“It seems so sort of heartless,” she went on, “but you know I’m planning only for the baby. There is something sure about life insurance, and everything else is so uncertain. Some of the stories Mr. Murray told were very sad.” “Oh, Murray was after business,” he said with a laugh. “He told me long ago that he intended to insure me, and it’s been a sort of friendly duel with us ever since. But he has convinced me that he is right in holding that every married man should carry life insurance, and, aside from that, I would cheerfully pay double premiums to relieve you of any cause for worry. The insurance company is going to get the best of me, though: I’ll live long enough to pay in more than it will have to pay out.” “Of course you will!” she exclaimed confidently. “You’re so big and strong it seems foolish—except for the baby. That’s why we mustn’t take any chances.” So cheerful and confident was Wentworth that he failed to notice the solemnity of the physician who examined him the next day. The doctor began with a joke, but he ended with a perplexed scowl. “You certainly look as strong as a horse,” he said. “But you’re not,” he added under his breath. Then he made his report to Murray. “Heart trouble,” he explained. “The man may live twenty or thirty years or he may die to-morrow. My personal opinion is that he will die within two years.” Murray was startled and distressed. Wentworth was his close personal friend, and to refuse his application after he had striven so hard to get it seemed heartless and cruel, especially as the refusal would have to be accompanied by an explanation that would be much like a death-warrant. Of course, he was in no way responsible for the conditions, but it would seem as if he were putting a limit on his friend’s life. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Positive,” replied the physician. “It is an impossible risk.” “Did you tell him?” “No.” “And I am to dine with him and his wife to-night,” said Murray. “They will be sure to ask about the policy.” Murray was tempted to send word that he could not come, but it was rather late for that. Besides, the information would have to be given some time, so what advantage could there be in procrastinating? But it came to him as a shock. The news of actual death would hardly have affected him more seriously, for it seemed like a calamity with which he was personally identified and for which he was largely responsible. He knew that he was not, but he could not banish the disquieting feeling that he was. He closed his desk and walked slowly and thoughtfully to Wentworth’s house, wishing, for once, that he had been less successful in the “friendly duel.”