"And are unconvertible," Lenox declared with a laugh. "But don't you ever get sickened with the deadly sameness of the whole tribe of us,--grinding ourselves to dust in the eternal treadmill of hatred and love, hope and despair? Every conceivable human complication has been repeated _ad nauseam_ since Adam made a fool of himself in the garden of Eden." "And through all that endless sameness, no two men and women have ever behaved twice alike! That's where the interest comes in, don't you see? To-night, for instance, Miss Maurice and that pretty child Elsie Mayhew are both wasting their sweetness on men quite unworthy of them; but each is doing the same thing in a fashion so entirely her own, that it is not like looking on at the same play at all. I am specially concerned over the Mayhew muddle, for I believe that handsome Engineer boy is capable of breaking his heart in earnest because Elsie has lost hers _pro tem._,--engaging little goose that she is. Really I sometimes think that the man and woman puzzle is just an endless game of cross questions and crooked answers!" Lenox laughed again, harshly. "That's a straight shot!" he said. "It's a mad world; and the maddest creature in it is the man who stakes his happiness on the state of a woman's heart." Honor slipped her hand from his arm. "Really, Captain Lenox," she protested, half-laughing, half in earnest, "that remark almost amounts to an insult! What do you suppose Theo would say if he heard you?" "Wouldn't stop to pick his language," Lenox answered with a twisted smile. "But his testimony counts for nothing. He has found the one woman among a thousand, that even Solomon failed to find; and the Lord knows he didn't judge them from hearsay!" The sincerity underlying his bluntness brought the blood to Honor's cheeks. "Theo has simply found--a woman who loves him," she answered softly. "A discovery most men can make if they choose; even rank heretics like you! Will you forgive me, I wonder, if I say that I believe the thing you really need, though you may not guess it, is . . . a woman in your life?" Lenox did not answer: and they walked on for a time in silence. "Have I vexed you?" Honor asked at length. "No. You touched an exposed nerve. That was all. And I should like you to know the truth now; or at least part of it.--Five years ago I did take . . . a woman into my life, as you put it; and I have never known real peace or comfort since." Honor started, and turned upon him a face of incredulity. "Captain Lenox! Do you mean--have you actually--been married?" "I actually am married, in the eyes of the law, at least. What's more, my wife is here, in Dalhousie, in that cursed ballroom,--with neither my name nor my ring to protect her--playing the fool for the amusement or perdition of another chap. You spoke of her a minute ago. I need hardly say more, need I?"