"It was something else. She was so handsome, so--so fine, somehow. I used to think, when we were engaged, that she was like Brunhilde, or some of the other Wagnerian heroines. Sometimes I couldn't help thinking"--he coloured--"what splendid children a woman like that would have. She ... she satisfied one, somehow. You knew she was sound in every way--the sort of woman one would always be proud of--and when I thought of her as the mistress of Greenriver, I----" He threw away his cigarette impatiently. "What a fool I am! What a damned fool you must think me, raving about a woman who played me the shabbiest trick a woman could play! God! When I think of it--think how I was deceived, I--I hate the woman! I hate myself for being such a fool, but I hate her more! Well, she's married now--good luck to her!--and there's only one thing for me to do; I must get married too!" "But why?" Barry's blue eyes were very kindly as they looked at his friend. "Why not go on as you are for a bit longer?" "Why not?" He stretched out his arms with a curious, restless gesture. "Because I've got unsettled, I suppose. You see, when you've looked on yourself as practically a married man, planned everything, renounced your bachelor ways and anticipated a new and more settled existence, well, somehow you can't go back to the old state of things. There's the house, too. I feel as though I wanted to live in it again--the servants are clamouring for me to go there. I promised, you know, and the river is so lovely in the summer...." "Well, why not go down and have a car?" "Go there--alone?" He spoke bitterly. "No, thanks. That would be folly. I meant to go with my wife----" Suddenly he stopped in his restless pacing and faced Barry with gleaming eyes. "By gad, Barry! Why shouldn't I take my wife there after all?" "Your wife?" Even the quick-witted Barry was at fault. "Yes. My wife." He laughed at the other man's face. "Oh, I'm not married yet, but why shouldn't I be? I swore I'd marry the first woman who'd have me, and it's just occurred to me--Barry, do you thing she _would_ have me?" "She? _What_ she?" demanded Barry in justifiable bewilderment. "Why, our excellent little secretary and typist--our Miss Gibbs--our Antonia, known at home as Toni!" Barry's boyish face flushed crimson, and for a second he looked so angry that Owen stared in genuine amazement. "Well, Barry, what's up? I assure you my intentions are strictly honourable! If she'll have me, she shall step into the shoes vacated by Miss Vivian Rees, and succeed to the house, the car, the boats, and all the rest of the worldly goods which weren't sufficient to tempt my beautiful _fiancee_!" "See here, Owen." Barry's voice was quiet. "I suppose you're ragging, but let me tell you I think the rag's in execrable taste, and I'll be obliged if you'll drop the subject." For a second Owen seemed about to retort in the same tone. Then, quite suddenly, his face changed.