“Well—­however that may be, we have this life to live, and we should go about it in the best way possible.  Now I believe that Walter will be more of a man, will accomplish more in the end, if he marries Molly than he will as a bachelor, or if he married—­Jennie Perkins, for instance, who is so much of a manly woman that she has no sympathy with either sex.”

“Right!” said Upton.

“You like Walter, don’t you, and want him to succeed?”

“I do.”

“You realize that an unmarried physician hasn’t more than half a chance?”

“Unfortunately yes,” said Upton.  “Though I don’t agree that a man can cut your leg off more expertly or carry you through the measles more successfully just because he has happened to get married.  As a matter of fact, when I have my leg cut off I want it to be done by a man who hasn’t been kept awake all night by the squalling of his lately arrived son.”

“Nevertheless,” said Mrs. Upton, “society decrees that a doctor needs a wife to round him out.  There’s no disputing that fact—­and it is perfectly proper.  Bachelors may know all about the science of medicine, and make a fair showing in surgery, but it isn’t until a man is married that he becomes the wholly successful practitioner who inspires confidence.”

“I suppose it’s so,” said Upton.  “No doubt of it.  A man who has suffered always does do better—­”

“Henry!” ejaculated Mrs. Upton, severely.  “Remember this:  I didn’t marry you because I thought you were a cynic.  Now Walter as a young physician needs a wife—­”

“I suppose he’s got to have somebody to confide professional secrets to,” said Upton.

“That may be the reason for it,” observed Mrs. Upton; “but whatever the reason, it is a fact.  He needs a wife, and I propose that he shall have one; and it is very important that he should get the right one.”

“Are you going to propose to the girl in his behalf?” queried Henry.

“No; but I think he’s a man of sense, and I know Molly is.  Now I propose to bring them together, and to throw them at each other’s heads in such a way that they won’t either of them guess that I am doing it—­”

“Now, my dear,” interrupted Upton, “don’t!  Don’t try any throwing.  You know as well as I do that no woman can throw straight.  If you throw Molly Meeker at Walter’s head—­”

“I may strike his heart.  Precisely!” said Mrs. Upton, triumphantly.  “And that’s all I want.  Then we shall have a beautiful wedding,” she added, with enthusiasm.  “We’ll give a little dinner on the 18th—­a nice informal dinner.  We’ll invite the Jacksons and the Peltons and Molly and Walter.  They will meet, fall in love like sensible people, and there you are.”

“I guess it’s all right,” said Upton, “though to fall in love sensibly isn’t possible, my dear.  What people who get married ought to do is to fall unreasonably, madly in love—­”

But Mrs. Upton did not listen.  She was already at her escritoire, writing the invitations for the little dinner.