Marriage of William Durrant 

My marriage has been a failure. I am one of those unfortunate men with whom fate deals unjustly. I tried my best. I started with plenty of opportunity, with what I thought was every chance of success. I worked the whole thing out carefully—I knew what was necessary for our happiness and I went after it, sanely and unswervingly. I lacked neither ambition nor purpose; I did not shirk hard work.

I did my best always—the best both for her and for me. And I lost. The woman I loved and trusted—trusted too much, I know now—deceived me. My honor has been trampled under foot—my marriage wrecked in spite of the fact I did everything I could to make it a success.

I shall tell you about it plainly, just as it occurred.

My name is William Durrant; I was born in Philadelphia thirty-two years ago. My family was prominent in Philadelphia society; my mother a woman of superior culture and a very great social ambition.

I received a university education and then entered my father’s business—wholesale neckwear. My mother died soon after this, and as I had no brothers or sisters—or in fact any near relatives—my father and I were drawn very close together.

It was then I learned for the first time the true state of my father’s affairs. I can remember perfectly that evening when he had his first intimate talk with me; it was about two months after my mother died.

“Sit down, Will,” he began. We were in the library of the old Durrant mansion on Arch Street. “I want to talk to you—seriously.”

We drew our chairs together before the fire and I lighted a cigarette.

“You’re not a child any more, Will,” he went on. “You’re nearly twenty-six—a man.” He laid his hand on mine with more evidence of affection than I had ever had from him before. “We’re all alone now—you and I. There are many things you don’t understand—and I want you to—for we must be very close to each other now.”

I waited, wondering.

“You think we’re rich, don’t you? Your mother did, and God knows I was not the one to undeceive her.” He laughed a little bitterly, glancing around the luxuriously furnished room.

“We have always had luxury. Your mother demanded it, Will—it was her life. The Philadelphia Durrants! Luxury—social 

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