“I suppose not. I was going to ask her this morning when I learned she had engaged herself--only last night--to this man. And I have seen him. Devil or not, he is a man.” Wither bit his lip. For the moment he was at a loss for an expression of sympathy, somewhat uneasy as to the line he should adopt. What was the use of making Kent more miserable by telling him other ugly stories he had heard concerning Hammerdyke if either were powerless to prevent the marriage from taking place? Besides, it was only idle gossip after all, and in the serious affairs of life Wither was honourable and conscientious. Suddenly Kent broke out: “Oh, my God, Teddy, I don't care a little damn about myself,--I can worry along, as I did before--better, for it is something to have loved her,--if only she is happy. But if this man is not fit for her, if this horrible gossip of yours is true, she will be entering into a life of misery,--I know her,--and I shall feel as if I had not put out my hand to stop her.” “Everyone must dree his own weird, my dear old boy,” said Wither. “And while he's doing it neither you nor anyone else can interfere with much profit. Make your mind easy about yourself and your responsibilities. You could not go to her and say, 'I hear the man you are going to marry is a blackguard; have me instead.' In the first place, your pride would not allow you, and in the second, if she cared about him, she wouldn't believe you, but would marry him all the sooner to prove her faith in him. It is the way of women when they are worth anything.” “Yes; Clytie would do just that,” said Kent. “I think even a man would, if he loved a woman.” “Well,” said Wither, “it is no use making yourself miserable about it. The wise man guards against indulgence in things that upset his moral as well as his physical digestion. But wisdom was never much your forte, friend John.”