“So--so,” conceded he. “But I’ve always believed you were a fond husband at bottom.” “Dismiss it from your mind,” said I. “You are hesitating about telling me something. Say it!” With a certain nervousness he yielded to his love of gossip. “Prince Frascatoni--you know him?” I beamed in a reassuring smile. “My late wife’s chief admirer,” said I. “A fine fellow. I like him.” “He’s visiting down at--what’s the name of the place your son-in-law has taken?” “He is?” exclaimed I jubilantly. “When did he go?” “About a week, I hear.” “That looks encouraging, doesn’t it?” cried I. “It certainly does,” said he. “They say he was charging round town like a lunatic up to a few weeks ago----” “Two weeks ago,” said I. “But now he has calmed again--looks serene. I had a note from him this morning. I’m positive he’s content with the way the cards are falling.” The change in me was so radical that Armitage must have been convinced--for the moment. “If I only knew!” said I. “I can find out for you,” suggested he. “Your daughter has asked me down for the week end. I’ll sacrifice myself, if you wish.” “I’ll take your going as a special favor,” said I. “Besides,” he went on, “these Anglo-American menages interest me. American women are so brash with the men of their own country. I like to see them playing the part of meek upper servants. The only kind of wife to have is a grateful one. To get a grateful wife an American has to marry some poor creature, homely, neglected by everyone till he came along. Even then the odds are two to one she’ll go crazy about herself and despise him--because he stooped to her, if she can’t find any other excuse. But a titled foreigner-- An American girl is on her knees at once and stays there. He can abuse her--step on her--kill her almost--neglect her--waste her money. She is still humbly grateful.” “The worms have been known to turn,” protested I. For, while I could not deny the general truth of Armitage’s attack I felt he was whipped too far by bitterness that he, for lack of a title, could not command what these inferior men with titles had offered to them without the bother of asking. “Not a worm,” declared he. “No American woman ever divorced a title unless she was either in terror of her life or in terror of being robbed to the last penny and kicked out.” “Thank God all our women aren’t title crazy,” said I. “How do you know they aren’t?” retorted he. “Do you know one who has been tempted and has resisted?” I had to confess I did not. “Then you thanked God too soon. The truth is our women are brought up to be snobs, spenders--useless, vain parasites. Their systems are all ready to be infected with the title mania.”