"Suppose I were to consider marriage, as you suggest," said Sidwell at last. "What do you think would be the result? Judging from your expression, some opinion thereon is weighing heavily upon your mind." The blonde man looked up keenly. One would hardly have recognized him as the easy-going person of a few moments before. "It will, of course, depend entirely upon whom you choose. That's hackneyed. From the motions of straws, though, this Summer, I presume it's admissible that I jump at conclusions concerning the lady." The other nodded. "In that case, Chad, as surely as night follows day it'll be a failure." The blue eyes all but flashed. "Moreover, it's a hideous injustice to the girl." Sidwell stiffened involuntarily. "Your prediction sounds a bit strong from one who is himself a benedict," he returned coldly. "Upon what, if you please, do you base your opinion?" Hough fidgeted in his chair. "You want me to be frank, brutally frank, once more?" "Anything you wish. I'd like to know why you spoke as you did." "The reason, then, is this. You two would no more mix than oil and water." Sidwell's face did not change. "You and Elise seem to jog along fairly well together," he observed. Hough scowled as before. "Yes, but there's no possible similarity between the cases. You and I are no more alike than a dog and a rabbit. To come down to the direct issue, you're city bred, and Miss Baker has been reared in the country. She--" Sidwell held up his hand deprecatingly. "To return to the illustration, Elise was originally from the country."