I like to forget unpleasant experiences quickly, particularly mistakes of my own, and to that end I hurried home and told Marion everything. Few husbands, I know, would have done so, but I am not one who lacks the moral courage to do right when I know it will be better for me in the end; nor would I be unwise enough to attempt to conceal the fact that I have faults when I know that it is infinitely wiser to acknowledge them. An error thrust in Marion's way may arouse her compassion, while a good deed, too obviously placed there, may be pushed aside with well-merited contempt. I prefer to let my virtues bloom in seclusion on either side of her path, for her artistic eye delights to spy out the modest flower that hides itself in verdure. Marion vibrated between laughter and tears as she listened to my tale. Did I try to extenuate my conduct, or gloss over my unspeakable stupidity? No; I castigated myself unsparingly. I anticipated the worst that might be said, and said it with superlative fervor. Only thus could I hope to avert the useless, humiliating process of having my mistakes pointed out in detail; only thus could I evoke the sweet human sympathy I craved, and divert my wife's indignation toward that adroit old swindler, John Waydean. She was visibly affected by my self-accusation, and I began to breathe more freely. She seemed to be in no haste to interrupt with a word of reproach, or to say that she told me so, or to hope the experience would be a lesson to me. I had begun to reflect that, after all, I wasn't a bad sort of fellow and that man was made to err, when suddenly she burst into tears. "Marion," I cried, aghast, "I'm an idiot, but there's no use crying over----" "No," she moaned--"no--use." "It's _my_ fault," I urged, in despair, "but if it were yours, I'm--I'm blamed if I'd cry!" "It _is_--my fault," she gasped, with a fresh relapse. In a flash I jumped to the conclusion that she was overcome with remorse for having told the butcher that I knew all about cattle. I saw that it really was her fault, after all, but this was not the time to say so. "Not at all," I assured her, with soothing generosity. "You must not blame yourself--you didn't realize the awkward position you placed me in." "No--use," she repeated, unheeding. "To think that--I--should be so--taken in!" "_You_ taken in?" I cried. "It was I. Who--what--to--oh----" The words died away in my throat as Marion uncovered her face. Not a word did she say, but her look was insufferable. "I didn't," I protested hotly; "I never said I knew all about cattle when"----