Guy learned more of practical life from his nook in the dark on this festive night, than a year's ordinary observation could ever have taught him. He shook his head in amused pity once or twice as he recognized some of his "old friends" among the gay crowd; how well he knew of old that some of those civil servants had likely made the tour of whole departments that afternoon to borrow the half-dollar admission fee that granted them all this pleasure to-night, fellows who had been rollicking all their lives, who had not hesitated over anything, who would as soon fall in love with a troupe of bouncing actresses, and follow them around from city to city, as they would eat their dinner, and yet he could see the gratification of unsuspecting girls as these destitute enthusiasts sought and enjoyed their company. It amused Guy to see some of them actually looking serious, as they led some fair creature on their arm through the moving circle of the dance; or bent suspiciously over the chair of some golden-haired beauty on the deck. Guy tried to improvise a consistent sequel to these little love-signs, but it grew ridiculous naturally enough, he gathered all these interesting little circumstances within the limits of "a plain gold ring," but these are "deuced" narrow limits for two healthy people and one small income to thrive in. He tried to imagine the placid pretty faces of the patient pampered blondes and brunettes, if these same devoted ones, now so interesting as lovers, were to come home some luckless evening as prosy husbands and say "Eva," or "Bee," or "Ada, it's all up with us now, the bailiff will be here in the morning, I knew this sort of high life couldn't last--" and then to fling himself down in democratic contempt on the parlor sofa, with its dainty tidies and cushions of "appliqué" or pale-blue satin, and use its rosewood or mahogany framework as the commonest bootjack. Of course a fellow is always sure that these ornamental little wives have no other consolation for themselves or any one else, but in the copious tears that swell up into their pretty eyes, they must sit down and sob to break their dear little hearts with every now and then a hysterical sentence from behind the dainty lawn handkerchief, saying "what will everyone think? What will Lady Featherly say? We wont be asked to any more 'at homes' now, and the ball at 'Rideau' is next week, oh dear--boo--hoo--hoo!" Of course the merciless husband gets mad because his poor little helpless wife sees fit to weep over a fate that must disgrace her in the eyes of the social world. She wouldn't mind being refused everywhere for "credit" as long as they had enough to eat and "kept up appearances," and she knows very well that no one will believe her when she says she and "Percy" gave up house-keeping as a "nuisance." Then there are those who will be delighted over her reverse, the ones she never would invite to her five o'clock teas or evening