“But she revels in the fact that she _could_ go anywhere. So, she fooled you--did she?” Edna laughed merrily at my ill-concealed discomfiture. “But then you know so little about women.” “I confess I’ve never seen in her the least sign of snobbishness or of interest in fashionable foolishness,” said I, with what I flatter myself was a fair attempt at the impartial air. “That in itself ought to have opened your eyes,” said Edna. “Whenever you see anyone, dear, with no sign of a weakness that everybody in the world has, you may be sure you are seeing a fraud.” “Because _you_ have a weakness, dear,” said I--as pleasant and as acid as she, “you must not imagine it is universal.” “But _you_ have that weakness, too.” “Really?” “Did you or did you not join the fashionable clubs Armitage put you up at?” I had to laugh at myself. “Are you or are you not proud of the fact that your best friend, Armitage, is a fashionable person? Would you be as proud of him if he were only welcome in middle-class houses?” “I’m ashamed to say there’s something in that,” said I. “Not much, but something.” “Yet you believed Mary Kirkwood!” ended Edna. “I thought little about it,” said I. “And I still believe that she is sincere--that she has no snobbishness in her.” “You like her?” “So far as I know her--yes.” My answer was an attempt to meet and parry a suspicion I felt in Edna’s mind. And it was fairly successful; fairly--for no one ever yet completely dislodged a suspicion. We cannot see into each other’s minds. We know, from what is going on in our own minds, that the human mind is capable of any vagary. Once we have applied this general principle to a specific person, once we have become definitely aware that there are in that person’s mind things of which we have no knowledge--from that time forth suspicion of them is in us, and is ready to grow, to flourish. I had no difficulty in shifting to the subject of the marriage. “I’ll cable for my lawyer,” said I. “If anyone can beat this game, Fred Norman can.” “Yes--send for him,” said Edna. “He is canny--and a man of _our_ world.” “I’m going back to London to-night--” I went on. “To-night!” she exclaimed. Her eyes filled with tears. “Godfrey--is this treating us right?” I looked at her intently. “Don’t fake with me,” said I quietly. “It isn’t necessary.” “What _do_ you mean?” cried she. “I mean, I understand perfectly that you care nothing about me, except as the source of the money you need in amusing yourself. As you see in my manner, I am not wildly agitated by that fact. So far as I’m concerned, there’s no reason why we should make each other uncomfortable.” “What _is_ the matter with you, Godfrey?” she said, with large widening eyes gazing at me. “You have changed entirely.” “As you have,” said I, admiring her shrewdness, and afraid of it. “You’ve been educating. So have I. Mine has been slower than yours and along different lines. But it, too, has been thorough.”