Though Jennie Purdy held dark views of mankind, I suspected that under the surface she was one of the worshiping ones. Still, I was not prepared to have her tell me, an hour after our arrival at home, that she was on the point of marriage. We sat down in T’férgore’s room, where I had been showing her the appointments, and I pulled a hassock to her side, eager for particulars. She should be married from the little farm instead of a boarding-house, if she could be content with such a wedding as we could give. But I upbraided her for keeping her secret from me, almost as seriously as she once upbraided me for daring to marry at all. “You won’t want me to be married here,” said Jennie, with a snap. “You’ll have too many prejudices.” “But I always thought you were the person with prejudices, dear,” I remonstrated, “and that Julian and I were too unconventional for you.” “I am going to marry a divorced man,” disclosed Jennie. I caught my breath and said “Oh!” “There--I knew it!” observed Jennie. “I didn’t say anything but ‘Oh.’ What made him get divorced?” “You don’t know him,” said Jennie, “and so you can’t judge of the circumstances.” “But you might try me,” I pleaded. “Has he been divorced a long time?” “About a month,” owned my old, fastidious chum, turning into another woman before my very eyes. She never was pretty, but a certain noble pride had given her a carriage I enthusiastically admired. Now she sat before me a dupe of her own absurd fancies, half defiant and half apologetic. The woman who had taught me that only most serious incompatibility should separate a married pair was going to wed a man who had been divorced one month! “His wife was never a fit companion for him.” “Oh, no,” I said. “An ignorant, miserable creature, who entrapped him when he was a boy and has kept him down in the world ever since.” “It’s always the wife’s fault,” I said. “People were continually asking him how he came to marry such a woman.” “And he let the question pass without knocking down the questioner?” “There never was anything fit to eat in the house, and his clothes were never fit to wear.” “Poor dear!” I observed. “Had his income anything to do with it?” “She kept him from getting on,” expostulated my old chum. “And he brought all his grievances to you for redress?” “I expected to meet nothing but prejudiced opposition in you,” said Jennie. “But of course I was bound to tell you. You cannot say anything to alter my determination.” My head whirled with this spectacle of a sane woman suddenly gone mad over a worthless man. Shakespeare never touched the weakness of womankind so closely as when he made Titania’s infatuation. The greater the ass, the more Titania adores him. “I hate such an irregular marriage!” I said, breathing quickly. “Yes, I know you do,” retorted Jennie. “You’re the slave of society. You wouldn’t have the courage to go against one of society’s whims.”