Mrs. Upton had made up her mind that it must be, and that was the beginning of the end.  The charming match-maker had not indulged her passion for making others happy, willy-nilly, for some time—­not, in fact, since she had arranged the match between Marie Willoughby and Jack Hearst, which, as the world knows, resulted first in a marriage, and then, as the good lady had not foreseen, in a South Dakota divorce.  This unfortunate termination to her well-meant efforts in behalf of the unhappy pair was a severe blow to Mrs. Upton.  She had been for many years the busiest of match-makers, and seldom had she failed to bring about desirable results.  In the homes of a large number of happy pairs her name was blessed for all that she had done, and until this no unhappy marriage had ever come from her efforts.  One or two engagements of her designing had failed to eventuate, owing to complications over which she had no control, and with which she was in no way concerned; but that was merely one of the risks of the business in which she was engaged.  The most expert artisan sometimes finds that he has made a failure of some cherished bit of work, but he does not cease to pursue his vocation because of that.  So it was with Mrs. Upton, and when some of her plans went askew, and two young persons whom she had designed for each other chose to take two other young people into their hearts instead, she accepted the situation with a merely negative feeling of regret.  But when she realized that it was she who had brought Marie Willoughby and Jack Hearst together, and had, beyond all question, made the match which resulted so unhappily, then was Mrs. Upton’s regret and sorrow of so positive a nature that she practically renounced her chief occupation in life.

“I’ll never, never, never, so long as I live, have anything more to do with bringing about marriages!” she cried, tearfully, to her husband, when that worthy gentleman showed her a despatch in the evening paper to the effect that Mr. and Mrs. Jack had invoked the Western courts to free them from a contract which had grown irksome to both.  “I shall not even help the most despairing lover over a misunderstanding which may result in two broken hearts.  I’m through.  The very idea of Marie Willoughby and Johnny Hearst not being able to get along together is preposterous.  Why, they were made for each other.”

“I haven’t a doubt of it,” returned Upton, with whom it was a settled principle of life always to agree with his better half.  “But sometimes there’s a flaw in the workmanship, my dear, and while Marie may have been made for Jack, and Jack for Marie, it is just possible that the materials were not up to the specifications.”

“Well, it’s a burning shame, anyhow,” said Mrs. Upton, “and I’ll never make another match.”

“That’s good,” said Upton.  “I wouldn’t—­or, if I did, I’d see to it that it was a safety, instead of a fusee that burns fiercely for a minute and then goes out altogether.  Stick to vestas.”