e, Mr. Thayer. I can see no way out of the trouble; it
stands on either side of the path. But do you think she could hold him,
if she were to try?"

"It is an open question. Lorimer is weak; but I am not sure how strong
she is, nor how patient. If she could steady him and forgive him
ninety-nine times, it is possible that, on the hundredth, she would have
nothing to forgive. But that is asking too much of a woman, that she
should sacrifice her pride and her hope to her loyalty and her love."

"I think Beatrix would do it."

"Perhaps. At least, though, she ought to have the right to choose for
herself."

Once more Miss Gannion mastered herself.

"I am not sure. You make the alternatives certain ruin and possible
salvation. I should cling to the chance."

"And take the responsibility of silence?"

"It is a responsibility; but I should assume it for the present. What we
should say to her could never be unsaid. It might do good; it might do
terrible harm. It is possible that the truth may come to her in some
other way. I should certainly prefer that it might."

He bent over the fire for a moment. Then he straightened up and threw
back his shoulders, like a man relieved of the burden of a heavy load.

"Then that is your final advice?" he asked slowly.

She made answer just as slowly,--

"Mr. Thayer, I am growing older than I used to be, and things don't look
quite so plain to me as they did once. Motives mix themselves more, and
I am not so ready to put my finger on my neighbor's nerve. If I were in
your place, I--rather think I should say my prayers, and then wait."

CHAPTER SEVEN

"I believe I should hate to have Mr. Thayer fall in love with me," Sally
observed thoughtfully.

"I wouldn't worry about it yet," Bobby said unkindly. "He yawned twice,
last night, while he was talking to you."

Sally's answer was prompt.

"Yes, we were discussing you."

"Why didn't you call me over to give you some points? It is the only
subject upon which I can speak with authority. But just think what a
lover Thayer would make, troubadouring around under windows!"

Sally counted swiftly.

"There are nineteen families in our hotel, Bobby, and thirteen of them
have marriageable daughters. Imagine the creaking of casements, when Mr.
Thayer warbled, 'Open the window to me, Love!' Troubadours will do for
the country; in town, one can heed only the impersonal strains of the
hurdy-gurdy. But really--"

"Yes?" Bobby's