"But I haven't heard even a rumor. Has he started anything?"
"No. He's a decentish little chap. He's trying to make up his mind
whether to divorce her or be divorced himself. It hinges on the
children. If he divorces her he'll get them, and if he lets himself be
divorced, she will."
"It's big trouble, Harry!"
"Yes. For we are sick and tired of each other. I'd rather like to
blow my head off."
"But if she divorces him, you needn't marry her."
He rose slowly to his full height and held out his hand. "I'm going to
turn in," he said. "Good night."
"Good night, Harry. I'm sorry for you, you know that."
"I only have my deserts," he said. "Sensible men, like you, steer
clear of family complications."
When he had gone I had another bottle of ale in front of the fire, and
from thinking of Harry, I got to thinking of how well ale seemed to go
on top of whiskey, and to congratulating myself on my strong head and
stomach. "Nobody," I thought complacently, "would suspect that I had
been drinking." Then I got to thinking once more about Evelyn Gray.
It was time I settled down, why not with Evelyn--if only to prove to
her that the truths she had told me about myself weren't true? I began
to fancy that I had in me all the qualities that go to make the ideal
husband, and that in Evelyn were to be found all the qualities which
make the ideal wife. I could have wept to think what a good sportsman
she was, and how Pilgrim-father honest.
On her writing-desk my mother has three little monkeys carved in ivory.
One has his hands clapped to his ears, one to his eyes, and the other
to his mouth. Their names are "Hear no Evil," "See no Evil," and
"Speak no Evil."
I have to pass her door to get to my room. But late at night that door
is never left ajar. She is not the kind of mother who puts in a sudden
(and wholly accidental!) appearance when her son is coming home a
little the worse for wear. She has never seen me the worse for wear
(and I'm not very often), and if she has her way (and I have mine) she
never will.
"What in thunderation started _you_ last night?" said my father at
breakfast.
"I'm hanged if I know," I said; "but what makes you think I got
started?"
"I'd just put out the lights in the library when you came in. You
stopped in front of the hall mirror, and said:
"Beautiful Evelyn Gray is dead
Come and sit by her side an hour."
"I _didn't_," I exclaimed indignantly.
My father began to chuckle all over like Santa Claus in the Christmas
poem.
"You mean beautiful Evelyn Hope, don't you?" I asked.
"Gray was the name."
"I'd like to know what _you_ were doing up so late?"
"Oh, we had a big night--three tables of bridge and one of poker. I
sat up late to count my winnings."
"How much did you drop, as a matter of fact?"
"Only about eighty."
"Any twinges this morning?"
"No, sir. And a better appetite than you've got."
"I doubt that."
And, indeed, we both ate very hearty breakfasts.