e paradoxical conclusion that I could pack her off without a pang to
Kamtchatka and the embraces of her unknown husband, but could not hand
her over to Dale without feelings of the deepest repugnance. A pretty
position to find myself in. I threw away my cigarette impatiently.

Presently she said, not stirring from her pose:

"I shall miss you terribly if you go. A man like you doesn't come
into the life of a common woman like me without"--she hesitated for a
word--"without making some impression. I can't bear to lose you."

"I shall be very sorry to give up our pleasant comradeship," said I,
"but even if I stay and send the private inquiry agent instead of going
myself, I shan't be able to go on seeing you in this way."

"Why not?"

"It would be scarcely dignified."

"On account of Dale?"

"Precisely."

There was another pause, during which I lit another cigarette. When I
looked up I saw great tears rolling down her cheeks. A weeping woman
always makes me nervous. You never know what she is going to do next.
Safety lies in checking the tears--in administering a tonic. Still, her
wish to retain me was very touching. I rose and stood before her by the
mantelpiece.

"You can't have your pudding and eat it too," said I.

"What do you mean?"

"You can't have Captain Vauvenarde for your husband, Dale for your
_cavaliere servente_, and myself for your guide, philosopher and friend
all at the same time."

"Which would you advise me to give up?"

"That's obvious. Give up Dale."

She uttered a sound midway between a sob and a laugh, and said, as it
seemed, ironically:

"Would you take his place?"

Somewhat ironically, too, I replied, "A crock, my dear lady, with one
foot in the grave has no business to put the other into the _Pays du
Tendre_."

But all the same I had an absurd desire to take her at her word, not
for the sake of constituting myself her _amant en titre_, but so as
to dispossess the poor boy who was clamouring wildly for her among his
mother's snuffy colleagues in Berlin.

"That's another reason why I shrink from your going in search of my
husband," she said, dabbing her eyes. "Your ill-health."

"I shall have to go abroad out of this dreadful climate in any case.
Doctor's orders. And I might just as well travel about with an object in
view as idle in Monte Carlo or Egypt."

"But you might die!" she cried; and her tone touched my heart.

"I've got to," I said, as gently as I could; and th