This book is Jim's,—this page shall bear
Its witness to my love for him.
Best of small brothers anywhere,
Who would not do as much for Jim?
"You and I have been married nearly seven years," Margaret Kirbyreflected bitterly, "and I suppose we are as near hating each other astwo civilized people ever were!"
She did not say it aloud. The Kirbys had long ago given up anydiscussion of their attitude to each other. But as the thought cameinto her mind she eyed her husband—lounging moodily in her motor-car,as they swept home through the winter twilight—with hopeless, mutinousirritation.
What was the matter, she wondered, with John and Margaret Kirby—young,handsome, rich, and popular? What had been wrong with their marriage,that brilliantly heralded and widely advertised event? Whose fault wasit that they two could not seem to understand each other, could notseem to live out their lives together in honorable and dignifiedcompanionship, as generations of their forebears had done?
"Perhaps everyone's marriage is more or less like ours," Margaret musedmiserably. "Perhaps there's no such thing as a happy marriage."
Almost all the women that she knew admitted unhappiness of one sort oranother, and discussed their domestic troubles freely. Margaret hadnever sunk to that; it would not even have been a relief to a nature asself-sufficient and as cold as hers. But for years she had felt thather marriage tie was an irksome and distasteful bond, and only thatafternoon she had been stung by the bitter fact that the state ofaffairs between her husband and herself was no secret from their world.A certain audacious newspaper had boldly hinted that there would soonbe a sensational separation in the Kirby household, whose beautifulmistress would undoubtedly f