I could not but admit the truth of all that the boy said, and of course I told him so.  To change the subject, which, if pursued, might lead to an exposure of my own ignorance, I said: 

“But, Dan, what interests me most, and pains me most as well, is to hear that you are separated from Psyche.  I do not wish to seem inquisitive on the subject of a—­ah—­of a man’s family affairs”—­I hesitated in my speech because he seemed such a baby and it was difficult to take him seriously, as is always the way with Love, unless we are directly involved—­“but you have told me of the separation, and as a man, a newspaper-man, I am interested.  Couldn’t you reconcile your mother, Madame Venus, to Psyche—­or, rather, Mrs. Dan?”

[Illustration:  “‘The goddess of the mother-in-law’”]

“Not for a moment,” replied the boy.  “Not for a millionth part of a tenth of a quarter of a second by a stop-watch.  Their irreconcilability was copper-fastened, and I found myself compelled to choose between them.  My mother developed a gray hair the day after the first trouble, and my wife began to go out to afternoon teas and sewing-circles and dances.  The teas and dances were all right.  You can’t talk at either.  But the sewing-circle was ruin.  At this particular time the circle was engaged in making winter garments for the children of the mother of the Gracchi.  I presume that as a student and as a father you realize all that this meant.  You also know that a sewing-circle needs four things:  first, an object; second, a needle and thread; third, a garment; fourth, a subject for conversation.  These things are constitutionally required, and Psyche joined what she called ’The Immortal Dorcas.’  The result was that all Olympus and half of Hades were shortly acquainted with the confidential workings of my department—­all told under the inviolate bond of secrecy, however, which requires that each member confided in shall not communicate what she has heard to more—­or to less—­than ten people.”

“I know,” said I.  “The Dorcas habit has followers among my own people.”

“But see where it placed me!” cried the little creature.  “There was me, or I—­I don’t know whether Greek or English is preferable to you—­charged with the love affairs of the universe.  Confiding all I knew, like a dutiful husband, to my wife, and having her letting it all out to the public through the society.  Why, my dear fellow, it wasn’t long before the immortals began to accuse me of being in the pay of the Sunday newspapers, and you must know as well as anybody else that Love has nothing to do with them.  Even the affairs of my sovereign began to creep out, and innuendoes connecting Jupiter with people prominent in society were printed in the opposition organs.”

“Poor chap!” said I, sympathetically.  “I did not realize that you had to contend against the Sunday-newspaper nuisance as we mortals have.”