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 it, When Yvonne let fall a hint that she was seeking work wherewith to replenish her ebbing funds, she met with fiery combat. When Jock sold some bonds of his own and attempted to press the money upon Yvonne, he found himself battering against a stone wall. She would not hear to an early marriage, she would not accept assistance, and she declined to leave her present place of residence. Jock alternated between prayers and profanity, between tenderness and white-hot rage. He saw no valid reason why they should not be married straightway; and certainly he could see no reason that prevented him, her fiancé, from doing for her the things that other, lesser men had done. . . . Gradually, though, he grew resigned. The new inertia, the langorous laissez-faire spirit that had taken possession of him made resignation with few misgivings possible. Yvonne was being unreasonable, of course. But she'd "come to," doubtless, given time. And meanwhile life was sweet just as it was.

Mrs. Hamill and Yvonne met duly, and appeared charmed with one another. "Although," Jock reflected, "you can't tell a thing by appearances." He had engineered the meeting as a matter of course, knowing it inevitable, but with a certain secret trepidation. One's mother and one's betrothed—well, there was a bar between, always. And when each was a woman fundamentally inimical to all other women, the bar might easily and at once become a grim and immutable thing of iron. . . . He put in a busy first hour, mulling over in his mind everything they said to one another, every glance they exchanged, until they chided him laughingly for his silence. After that he talked a great deal and very fast, and ate, according to Bennett's calculation, thirteen small pink cakes.

Late that same night, after he had driven Yvonne