As the resuscitated Academy scheme once more fell into abeyance, I saw Halidon less and less frequently; and we had not met for several months, when one day of June, my morning paper startled me with the announcement that the President had appointed Edward Halidon of New York to be Civil Commissioner of our newly acquired Eastern possession, the Manana Islands.  “The unhealthy climate of the islands, and the defective sanitation of the towns, make it necessary that vigorous measures should be taken to protect the health of the American citizens established there, and it is believed that Mr. Halidon’s large experience of Eastern life and well-known energy of character—­” I read the paragraph twice; then I dropped the paper, and projected myself through the subway to Halidon’s office.  But he was not there; he had not been there for a month.  One of the clerks believed he was in Washington.

“It’s true, then!” I said to myself.  “But Mrs. Halidon in the Mananas—?”

A day or two later Ned appeared in my office.  He looked better than when we had last met, and there was a determined line about his lips.

“My wife?  Heaven forbid!  You don’t suppose I should think of taking her?  But the job is a tremendously interesting one, and it’s the kind of work I believe I can do—­the only kind,” he added, smiling rather ruefully.

“But my dear Ned—­”

He faced me with a look of quiet resolution.  “I think I’ve been through all the buts.  It’s an infernal climate, of course, but then I am used to the East—­I know what precautions to take.  And it would be a big thing to clean up that Augean stable.”

“But consider your wife and children—­”

He met this with deliberation.  “I have considered my children—­that’s the point.  I don’t want them to be able to say, when they look back:  ’He was content to go on living on that money—­’”

“My dear Ned—­”

“That’s the one thing they shan’t say of me,” he pressed on vehemently.  “I’ve tried other ways—­but I’m no good at business.  I see now that I shall never make money enough to carry out the scheme myself; but at least I can clear out, and not go on being his pensioner—­seeing his dreams turned into horses and carpets and clothes—­”

He broke off, and leaning on my desk hid his face in his hands.  When he looked up again his flush of wrath had subsided.

“Just understand me—­it’s not her fault.  Don’t fancy I’m trying for an instant to shift the blame.  A woman with children simply obeys the instinct of her sex; she puts them first—­and I wouldn’t have it otherwise.  As far as she’s concerned there were no conditions attached—­there’s no reason why she should make any sacrifice.”  He paused, and added painfully:  “The trouble is, I can’t make her see that I am differently situated.”

“But, Ned, the climate—­what are you going to gain by chucking yourself away?”