tries the patience of a parent. He was weirdly prankish; serious
happenings reacted strangely upon him. Misfortune aroused in him a
wild hilarity; cares excited mirth. He bore his responsibilities
lightly and displayed them to his friends with the same profound
pride with which a small boy exhibits a collection of beetles, but
they meant nothing more.

Lorelei realized before long that this very jocundity of his,
since it fed upon constant change and excitement, constituted the
gravest menace to their happiness. The man lived entirely outside
of himself; he utterly lacked the power of self-amusement, and,
although he seemed content when she was near, during the long
hours of her absence he was like a fretful child. He refused to
frequent the theater, ostensibly because of their secret, in
reality because of his shame at allowing her to work. As Lorelei
came to know him better and to understand the conflicting forces
within him, she began to wonder how long he could hold himself
true to his bargain.

During the first week of their married life his system struggled
to throw off the effects of his recent dissipations, and in
consequence it craved only rest. Greatly encouraged by this lack
of desire, he boasted that the battle was already won, and Lorelei
pretended to agree with him.

She did not deceive herself, however, and a brief experience
convinced her that to be merely a wife to one of Bob's vagrant
disposition was not enough; that in order to keep his new self
alive she must also be his sweetheart, his chum, and his partner.
If she failed in any one of these roles disaster was bound to