“Came this morning.  Jim, she waited for that hat!  Now, that isn’t right!  That isn’t delicate!”

“No, by Jove, it certainly isn’t delicate!”

“Domesticity!  Ha!” At the moment, with only the long vision of petty tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and strangled her.  “Domesticity!  I’ve had all I want of domesticity!”

Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded authoritatively: 

“Never tell!”

“Never!”

De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so cumulatively dangerous as confession.

Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, frowning at the thought of what he had revealed.  All at once a fresh impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out: 

“Do you want to know one thing more?  Do you want to know the truth, the real truth?”

“Gracious heavens, there is something more?”

“I never married her—­never in God’s world!”

He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before him in its stark verity.

“She married me!”

“Is it possible?”

“She did!”

What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty.

“As I look back now, I can see it all—­quite clear.  Do you know how it happened?  I called three times—­not one time more—­three times!  I liked her—­nothing more.  She was an attractive-looking girl—­a certain fascination—­she always has that—­that’s the worst of it—­but gentle, very gentle.”

“Extraordinary!”

“On the third time I called—­the third time, mind you,” proceeded Lightbody, attacking the table, “as I stood up to say good-by, all at once—­the lights went out.”

“The lights?”

“When they went on again—­I was engaged.”

“Great heavens!”

“The old fainting trick.”

“Is it possible?”

“I see it all now.  A man sees things as they are at such a moment.”

He gave a short, disagreeable laugh.  “Jim, she had those lights all fixed!”

“Frightful!”

Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was conscious of shame.  He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and cried: 

“And that’s the truth!  The solemn literal truth!  That’s my story!”

To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger.  The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a low, scornful laugh.

“My dear boy,” said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, “as a matter of fact, that’s the way you’re all caught.”

“I believe it,” said Lightbody curtly.  He had now an instinctive desire to insult the whole female sex.

“I know—­a bachelor knows.  The things I have seen and the things I have heard.  My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of thing, but for men of the world—­like ourselves, it’s a mistake.  Don’t do it again, my boy—­don’t do it.”