I left the kitchen smiling complacently, feeling that my latest matrimonial scheme for Marion was going to be the easiest I had ever attempted.

Alas!  I was reckoning, as the saying is, without my host.  The host in this case was Gladys.

CHAPTER XVII

Everything went wrong with my plans from the first.  For instance, Marion, the central figure in the plot, went away suddenly to nurse a sick great-aunt.  William now became so engrossed with Gladys that he talked of very little else.  Thus Henry and I would have avoided him at this stage, if possible; it was not possible, however, to avoid him.  We saw more of him than ever.  I will explain why.

William was one of those lovers who are terrified of being over-bold or too confident, lest by their presumption they might alarm the timid object of their affections.  He needn’t have been afraid of wooing Gladys.  She flung herself at his head rather obviously, but he seemed so obtuse she must have found him irritating at times.  Thus, instead of calling upon her or asking her to meet him by appointment, or arranging an evening at the theatre and otherwise behaving in a sensible manner, he hung about her house, endeavouring to come upon her ‘by chance.’  Further, having met her at our place he seemed to be under the impression that she was one of my closest friends, and came to see me every day, judging by the times he ‘dropped in’ in the obvious anticipation of meeting her.  Not finding his quarry, he talked about her to Henry, though I must admit his audience was not always sympathetic.

‘I don’t believe in interfering in these things,’ remarked Henry, one evening, when we were alone, ’but, frankly, I should be really sorry to see good old William throw himself away on that frivolous, stupid little Gladys.  They’d be desperately unhappy after being married a week.  Couldn’t something be said to them, do you think—­a hint thrown out from time to time?’

’Throwing hints—­or anything else—­wouldn’t be of the slightest use, Henry.  Have you ever met a person in love who would listen to sound advice of the sort?  If you want to know how to get yourself intensely unpopular—­with two people at least—­try intervening in what you consider an unsuitable love match.’

I spoke with feeling, for I had once been implored to use my influence to part a couple who were, to all appearances, acutely incompatible.  The job was distasteful to me, and I only undertook it because there is a strain of philanthropy in my nature (though that isn’t what the incompatibles called it).  My intervention had no effect, of course.  They are now married—­and quite happy—­and neither of them will speak to me any more.

Henry continued to look disturbed.  ‘If he only knew Gladys,’ he said, ’but as things are going at present I’m afraid he’ll propose before his eyes are opened.’