“Your wife!” exclaimed Hadley, removing his cigar from his mouth in sheer surprise.

“Yes, my wife,” repeated Stafford grimly.  “What about it?”

“Nothing—­nothing at all, my dear fellow,” he stammered, looking narrowly at his companion to see if he was sober, “allow me to congratulate you.”

There was an awkward pause.  Then suddenly Stafford broke into a loud peal of laughter.  His momentary ill humor had passed.  Unable to account for the sudden change of mood, Hadley came to the conclusion that the railroad man was enjoying a joke at his expense.

“You were guying me, eh?” he laughed.

Stafford hiccoughed and shook his head.  With drunken gravity he replied: 

“No, siree—­sure as your life—­she’s going to marry me.”

Calling the waiter, he motioned to him to open another bottle of wine.

“We’ll drink to her health, Hadley, old top.  Nicest girl in the world!”

The champagne was uncorked and the railroad promoter poured out the wine with an unsteady hand.  Lifting his glass he cried with mock sentimentality: 

“To Virginia—­my bride!”

The men touched glasses and Stafford, putting his glass to his lips, drained it at one gulp.  Hadley stared at him in growing amazement.  He saw his friend was drunk, but this was the first time he had suspected him of losing his senses.

“And how long has this been going on?” exclaimed his companion when he had recovered somewhat from his amazement.

Stafford laughed.

“Ever since that day you were in my rooms at the hotel,” he hiccoughed.  “Didn’t I tell you that I contemplated matrimony?  Don’t you remember?”

“I didn’t believe you.  I thought you were joking.  I never thought you were the marrying sort.”

“Why not?” spluttered the railroad man in an injured tone.

Hadley looked his friend straight in the face.  He was not the kind of a man to shrink from telling a friend the truth.

“Do you want the truth?” he said slowly.  “Well—­you’re too fond of your pleasures—­too selfish!  That’s frank—­but it’s the truth.  Selfishness keeps most men single.  They’re afraid to lose their liberty.  When you marry you can say good-bye to your freedom.”

“Who said so?” exclaimed Stafford, his face redder than ever, his lips tightening.

Hadley carelessly flecked the ash from his cigar.  Calmly he replied: 

“Your wife will expect it.  She’ll have a right to expect it.”

Stafford smiled as he poured out another glass of wine.  Grimly he said: 

“You don’t know me, Hadley, not after all these years, or you wouldn’t talk like that.  I’m not the man to be bullied or tyrannized or even lectured by a woman.  My wife and I will understand each other perfectly.  I shall make that quite plain from the outset.  It’s only right.  I give my wife—­my name, my fortune.  I expect in return something from my wife.  I think I’ve found just the right kind of girl—­unspoiled by society notions, sensible on every point—­”