Dolly’s eyes rested upon her with an interesting expression. I knew that she was about to ask Mrs. Wiggins whether she liked the condition of life, and I interposed hastily, with a sigh: “But you can look back on a happy marriage, Mrs. Wiggins?” “I did my best to make it so,” said she stiffly. “You are right,” said I. “Even in the face of unkindness we should strive--” “My husband’s not unkind,” said Dolly. “I didn’t mean your husband,” said I. “What your poor wife would do if she cared a button for you, I don’t know,” observed Dolly. “If I had a wife who cared for me, I should be a better man,” said I solemnly. “But you’d probably be very dull,” said Dolly. “And you wouldn’t be allowed to drive with me.” “Perhaps it’s all for the best,” said I, brightening up. “Goodbye, Mrs. Wiggins.” Dolly walked on. Mrs. Wiggins held my hand for a moment. “Young man,” said she sternly, “are you sure it’s not your own fault?” “I’m not at all sure, Mrs. Wiggins,” said I. “But don’t be distressed about it. It’s of no consequence. I don’t let it make me unhappy. Goodbye; so many thanks. Charming girls you have here--especially that one in the fifth--I mean, charming, all of them. Goodbye.” I hastened to the carriage. Mrs. Wiggins stood and watched. I got in and sat down by Dolly. “Oh, Mrs. Wiggins,” said Dolly, dimpling, “don’t tell Mrs. Hilary that Archie wasn’t with us, or we shall get into trouble.” And she added to me, “Are you all right?” “Rather!” said I appreciatively; and we drove off, leaving Mrs. Wiggins on her doorstep. A fortnight later I went to call on Mrs. Hilary. After some conversation she remarked: “I’m going to the school again tomorrow.” “Really!” said I. “And I’m so delighted--I’ve persuaded Hilary to come.” She paused, and then added: “You really seemed interested last time.” “Oh, I was.” “Would you like to come again tomorrow?” “No, I think not, thanks,” said I carelessly. “That’s just like you!” she said severely. “You never do any real good because you never stick to anything.” “There are some things one can’t stick to,” said I. “Oh, nonsense!” said Mrs. Hilary. But there are--and I didn’t go. THE OTHER LADY “By the merest chance,” I observed meditatively, “I attended a reception last night.” “I went to three,” said Lady Mickleham, selecting a sardine sandwich with care. “I might not have gone,” I mused, “I might easily not have gone.” “I can’t see what difference it would have made if you hadn’t,” said she. “I thought three times about going. It’s a curious world.” “What happened? You may smoke, you know.” “I fell in love,” said I, lighting a cigarette. Lady Mickleham placed her feet on the fender--it was a chilly afternoon--and turned her face to me, shielding it from the fire with her handkerchief. “Men of your age,” she remarked, “have no business to be thinking of such things.” “I was not thinking of it,” said I. “I was thinking of going home. Then I was introduced to her.”