ubterfuge for acknowledging
self-distrust. Because he had come so near to hating, he accused himself
of censoriousness. "If I had only seen his face--the real man beneath
the pretense--I might have understood and helped him," he muttered.

[Illustration: _Tabs extended his hand. Braithwaite made no motion to
take it._]

And now he was going to a fresh encounter where even more sympathy would
be required. It would be easy to condemn Maisie P. Lockwood. On a
superficial judgment she merited nothing else. Three husbands in four
and a half years, plus a risky flirtation with a married man were not
the credentials of an honorable character. If he followed the advice
of Sir Tobias Beddow, he would seek to assess her price at once. But he
had never been accustomed to regard women in that light--as a sex whose
virtue could be inflated or depressed by the increase or shrinkage of a
balance at the bank. Actually he knew very little about women; riding as
a knight-errant, with the wonder in his eyes of the mystery that might
surprise him round the luck of any corner, he had never given himself
much time to learn. His ideas about women were Tennysonian. He liked to
believe that they were free from temptations, more true in their
emotions, more generous in their affections, more unerring and unstained
than men. He extended to them all the reverent tenderness with which he
regarded his mothers memory. In this he saw nothing quixotic; to him the
most hoydenish girl was a potential mother, whose body possessed a
sacredness quite apart from herself as a slim, adventurous ark which
would bear the future of the race across the deluge of the ages. He
knew, as a matter of fact, that all women were invariably neither saints
nor angels; but he clung to his chivalrous superstition as a man prays,
though he receives no answers to his prayers. To the recorded cynicism
of experimenters in temptation he flung back the challenge of a sadder
cynic, "We're all in the gutter; but some of us are looking at the
stars."

So in this matter of Maisie, he argued, she couldn't be as shallow as
her history would indicate. She was Terry's friend; that, in itself, was
a proof of goodness. Terry had been so anxious for him to meet and
comprehend her that she had gone behind his back to prompt the
appointment. Well, he would make a better job of this second interview
than he had of the one that was just ended. He must approach it, at any
rate, without prejudic