arried life!

It was one of those painful hours that crop up from time to time in
life and seem to leave a little scratch upon the soul.

But when quarter past three came Mrs. Harley pulled herself together.
She had already dropped hints of every known and well-recognized kind
to George, without success. She had even invented appointments for him
at the dentist's and the tailor's. But George was basking in Joan's
favor and was too dazzled to be able to catch and concentrate upon his
wife's insinuations as to things and people that didn't exist. And Joan
held him with her smile and led him from one anecdote to another.
Finally, with no one realized how supreme an effort, Mrs. Harley came
to the point. As a rule she never came to points.

"Geordie," she said, seizing a pause, "you may run along now, dear, and
take a walk. It will do you good to get a little exercise before
dinner. I want to be alone with Joan for a while."

And before Joan could swing the conversation off at a tangent the
faithful and obedient St. Bernard was on his feet, ready and willing to
ramble whichever way he was told to go. With unconscious dignity and a
guilelessness utterly unknown to drawing-rooms he bent over Joan's
reluctant hand and said, "Thank you for being so kind to me," laid a
hearty kiss on his wife's cheek and went.

"And now, darling," said Mrs. Harley, settling into her chair with an
air of natural triumph, "tell me where Martin is and how long he's
going to be away and all about everything."

These were precisely the questions that Joan had worked so hard and
skilfully to dodge. "Well, first of all, Mummy," she said, with filial
artfulness, "you must come and see the house."

And Mrs. Harley, who had been consumed with the usual feminine
curiosity to examine every corner and cranny of it, rose with alacrity.
"What I've already seen is all charming," she said. "I knew Martin's
father, you know. He spent a great deal of time at his house near your
grandfather's, and was nearly always in the saddle. He was not a bit
like one's idea of a horsey man. He was, in fact, a gentleman who was
fond of horses. There is a world of difference. He had a most
delightful smile and was the only man I ever met, except your
grandfather, who could drink too much wine without showing it. Who's
this good-looking boy with the trustworthy eyes?"

"Martin," said Joan. "Martin," she added inwardly, "who treated me like
a kid last night."

Mrs. Harl