sorry, Miss Lily. He was in the vestibule behind Mrs. Denslow, and
I couldn't keep him out. I think he had waited for some one to call,
knowing I couldn't make a scene."

Mademoiselle turned to Lily.

"You must not see him," she said in rapid French. "Remain here, and I
shall telephone for your father. Lock your door. He may come up. He will
do anything, that man."

"I am going down," Lily said quietly. "I owe him that. You need not
be frightened. And don't tell mother; it will only worry her and do no
good."

Her heart was beating fast as she went down the stairs. From the drawing
room came the voices of Grace and Mrs. Denslow, chatting amiably. The
second man was carrying in tea, the old silver service gleaming. Over
all the lower floor was an air of peace and comfort, the passionless
atmosphere of daily life running in old and easy grooves.

When Lily entered the library she closed the door behind her. She had,
on turning, a swift picture of Grayson, taking up his stand in the hall,
and it gave her a sense of comfort. She knew he would remain there,
impassively waiting, so long as Akers was in the house.

Then she faced the man standing by the center table. He made no move
toward her, did not even speak at once. It left on her the burden of the
opening, of setting the key of what was to come. She was steady enough
now.

"Perhaps it is as well that you came, Louis," she said. "I suppose we
must talk it over some time."

"Yes," he agreed, his eyes on her. "We must. I have married a wife, and
I want her, Lily."

"You know that is impossible."

"Because of something that happened before I knew you? I never made
any pretensions about my life before we met. But I did promise to go
straight if you'd have me, and I have. I've lived up to my bargain. What
about you?"

"It was not a part of my bargain to marry you while you--I have thought
and thought, Louis. There is only one thing to be done. You will have to
divorce me, and marry her."

"Marry her? A girl of the streets, who chooses to say that I am the
father of her child! It's the oldest trick in the word. Besides--" He
played his best card--"she won't marry me. Ask Cameron, who chose to
make himself so damned busy about my affairs. He's in love with her. Ask
him."

In spite of herself Lily winced. Out of the wreckage of the past few
weeks one thing had seemed to remain, something to hold to, solid and
dependable and fine, and that had been Willy Camero