"I wish you could hear Weston talk about literature," he said. "He'd convince you." "He couldn't convince me that he can write any better than you can." Lavinia compressed her lips in a defiant loyalty. Marley paused to kiss the lips for their loyalty, and he compromised the validity of his own argument by saying: "As a matter of fact, the law, in America and in England, has given more men to literature than journalism ever has." "Then maybe you can enter literature through the law," said Lavinia, seizing her advantage. "No," said Marley, shaking his head. "I'm not cut out for it, as Weston is. Some day he will be a great man, and we shall be proud to have known him so intimately. And we will have him at our home; I have many a dream about that." He looked fondly at her, and her eyes brightened. "And there is another reason why I want to get out of newspaper work," he went on, speaking tenderly, "and that is because everybody says a newspaper man has no more right to be married than a soldier has." "But they all are," said Lavinia. "Yes, they all are, or most of them." "And I suppose it is the married ones who say that." "Well, I know one who is going to be married just as soon as he can." "Who is that,--Mr. Weston?" "No, but Mr. Weston knows him, and knows his intentions, and he has promised to be at the wedding and act as best man." "Oh, it would be fine to have a literary man at the wedding, wouldn't it." They talked then about the wedding, and they found all their old delicious joy in it. Marley said it must be soon now, though with a pang that laid a weight on his heart, he wondered, as he thought of all the extravagances he had allowed himself to drift into, where he was to get the money. He could reassure himself only by telling himself that he was going to live as an anchorite when he got back to Chicago; even if he had to give up the pleasant apartment with Weston and go back to the boarding-house in Ohio Street. "How shall you like living in Chicago?" he asked. "Can you be happy in a little flat, without knowing anybody, and without being anybody?" "I shall be happy anywhere with you, Glenn!" she said, looking confidently into his eyes. CHAPTER XXXI ILLUSIONS AND DISILLUSIONS It was a pleasure to Marley to accept the homage the people paid him; they confounded his success in journalism with a success in literature, and under the impression that all writers are somehow witty, they laughed extravagantly at his lightest observation.