“I don’t wonder at that at all,” said Mrs. Upton.  “Willie Timpkins is precisely the same kind of a person that George Barker is, and when they meet each other and realize that they are exactly alike, and see how sort of small and mean they really are, it destroys their self-love.”

“I never saw it in that light before,” said Upton, reflectively, “but I imagine you are right.  There’s lots in that.  If a man really wrote down on paper his candid opinion of himself, he’d have a good case for slander against the publisher who printed it—­I guess.”

“I should think you’d have known better than to bring those two together, and under the circumstances I don’t wonder they hate each other,” said Mrs. Upton.

“Sympathy ought to count for something,” pleaded Upton.  “Don’t you think?”

“Of course,” replied Mrs. Upton; “but a man wants to sympathize with the other fellow, not with himself.  If you were a woman you’d understand that a little better.  But to return to Molly and Walter—­don’t you think they really were made for each other?”

“No, I don’t,” said Upton.  “I don’t believe that anybody ever was made for anybody else.  On that principle every baby that is born ought to be labelled:  Fragile.  Please forward to Soandso.  This ‘made-for-each-other’ business makes me tired.  It’s predestination all over again, which is good enough for an express package, but doesn’t go where souls are involved.  Suppose that through some circumstance over which he has no control a Michigan man was made for a Russian girl—­how the deuce is she to get him?”

“That’s all nonsense, Henry,” said Mrs. Upton, impatiently.  “I don’t know why,” observed Upton.  “I can quite understand how a Michigan man might make a first-rate husband for a Russian girl.  Your idea involves the notion of affinity, and if I know anything about affinities, they have to go chasing each other through the universe for cycle after cycle, in the hope of some day meeting—­and it’s all beastly nonsense.  My affinity might be Delilah, and Samson’s your beautiful self; but I’ll tell you, on my own responsibility, that if I had caught Samson hanging about your father’s house during my palmy days I’d have thrashed the life out of him, whether his hair was short or long, and don’t you forget it, Mrs. Upton.”

Mrs. Upton laughed heartily.  “I’ve no doubt you could have done it, my dear Henry,” said she.  “I’d have helped you, anyhow.  But affinities or not, we are placed here for a certain purpose—­”

“I presume so,” said Upton.  “I haven’t found out what it is, but I’m satisfied.”

“Yes—­and so am I. Now,” continued Mrs. Upton, “I think that we all ought to help each other along.  Whether I am your affinity or not, or whether you are mine—­”

“I am yours—­for keeps, too,” said Upton.  “I shall be just as attentive in heaven, where marriage is not recognized, as I am here, if I hang for it.”