happiness. I have drained it to the last drop. My wife is mine. She does not belong to those people over there, to be talked over, and dined over, and all her beauty and fineness overlooked through their monocles — brutes! My mountain flower in her homespun dress — only poets could understand and appreciate her.”

“B — but what were you going to do about it?”

“Do about it? I meant to keep her to myself until the right time came. Perhaps in another year bring her here and begin life in a modest way, and let my mother visit us and see for herself. I was planning it out, slowly — but this — You see, Doctor, their ideas are all warped over there. They accept all that custom decrees and have but the one point of view. The true values of