“Yes,” cried the devil’s advocate—­“but Ned?”

My first impression of Halidon was that he had thickened—­thickened all through.  He was heavier, physically, with the ruddiness of good living rather than of hard training; he spoke more deliberately, and had less frequent bursts of subversive enthusiasm.  Well, he was a father, a householder—­yes, and a capitalist now.  It was fitting that his manner should show a sense of these responsibilities.  As for Mrs. Halidon, it was evident that the only responsibilities she was conscious of were those of the handsome woman and the accomplished hostess.  She was handsomer than ever, with her two babies at her knee—­perfect mother as she was perfect wife.  Poor Paul!  I wonder if he ever dreamed what a flower was hidden in the folded bud?

Not long after their arrival, I dined alone with the Halidons, and lingered on to smoke with Ned while his wife went alone to the opera.  He seemed dull and out of sorts, and complained of a twinge of gout.

“Fact is, I don’t get enough exercise—­I must look about for a horse.”

He had gone afoot for a good many years, and kept his clear skin and quick eye on that homely regimen—­but I had to remind myself that, after all, we were both older; and also that the Halidons had champagne every evening.

“How do you like these cigars?  They’re some I’ve just got out from London, but I’m not quite satisfied with them myself,” he grumbled, pushing toward me the silver box and its attendant taper.

I leaned to the flame, and our eyes met as I lit my cigar.  Ned flushed and laughed uneasily.  “Poor Paul!  Were you thinking of those execrable weeds of his?—­I wonder how I knew you were?  Probably because I have been wanting to talk to you of our plan—­I sent Daisy off alone so that we might have a quiet evening.  Not that she isn’t interested, only the technical details bore her.”

I hesitated.  “Are there many technical details left to settle?”

Halidon pushed his armchair back from the fire-light, and twirled his cigar between his fingers.  “I didn’t suppose there were till I began to look into things a little more closely.  You know I never had much of a head for business, and it was chiefly with you that Paul used to go over the figures.”

“The figures—?”

“There it is, you see.”  He paused.  “Have you any idea how much this thing is going to cost?”

“Approximately, yes.”

“And have you any idea how much we—­how much Daisy’s fortune amounts to?”

“None whatever,” I hastened to assert.

He looked relieved.  “Well, we simply can’t do it—­and live.”

“Live?”

“Paul didn’t live,” he said impatiently.  “I can’t ask a woman with two children to think of—­hang it, she’s under no actual obligation—­” He rose and began to walk the floor.  Presently he paused and halted in front of me, defensively, as Paul had once done years before.  “It’s not that I’ve lost the sense of my obligation—­it grows keener with the growth of my happiness; but my position’s a delicate one—­”