Norman turned, a mocking satirical smile unpleasantly sparkling in his
eyes and curling his mouth "Old man," he said, "I think you've gone
crazy."

Tetlow made a helpless gesture. "I think so myself. I didn't intend to
marry for ten years--and then--I had quite a different match in mind."

"What's the matter with you, Billy?" inquired Norman, inspecting him
with smiling, cruelly unfriendly eyes.

"I'm damned if I know, Norman," said the head clerk, assuming that his
friend was sympathetic and dropping into the informality of the old days
when they were clerks together in a small firm. "I'd have proposed to
her last night if I hadn't been afraid I'd lose her by being in such a
hurry. . . . You're in love yourself."

Norman startled violently.

"You're going to get married. Probably you can sympathize. You know how
it is to meet the woman you want and must have."

Norman turned away.

"I've had--or thought I had--rather advanced ideas on the subject of
women. I've always had a horror of being married for a living or for a
home or as an experiment or a springboard. My notion's been that I
wouldn't trust a woman who wasn't independent. And theoretically I still
think that's sound. But it doesn't work out in practice. A man has to
have been in love to be able to speak the last word on the sex
question."