others, as you say. But her husband
was fully entitled to any share of them that he may have borne. If he
had been kinder to her, she wouldn't be what and where she is now."

"Kinder to her!" Libby exclaimed. "He's the kindest fellow in the world!
Now, Miss Breen," he said earnestly, "I hope Mrs. Maynard hasn't been
talking against her husband to you?"

"Is it possible," demanded Grace, "that you don't know they're
separated, and that she's going to take steps for a divorce?"

"A divorce? No! What in the world for?"

"I never talk gossip. I thought of course she had told you"--

"She never told me a word! She was ashamed to do it! She knows that I
know Maynard was the best husband in the world to her. All she told
me was that he was out on his ranch, and she had come on here for her
health. It's some ridiculous little thing that no reasonable woman
would have dreamt of caring for. It's one of her caprices. It's her own
fickleness. She's tired of him,--or thinks she is, and that's all about
it. Miss Breen, I beg you won't believe anything against Maynard!"

"I don't understand," faltered Grace, astonished at his fervor; and the
light it cast upon her first doubts of him. "Of course, I only know the
affair from her report, and I haven't concerned myself in it, except
as it affected her health. And I don't wish to misjudge him. And I like
your--defending him," she said, though it instantly seemed a patronizing
thing to have said. "But I couldn't withhold my sympathy where I
believed there had been neglect and systematic unkindness, and finally
desertion."

"Oh, I know Mrs. Maynard; I know her kind of talk. I've seen Maynard's
neglect and unkindness, and I know just what his desertion would be. If
he's left her, it's because she wanted him to leave her; he did it to
humor her, to please her. I shall have a talk with Mrs. Maynard when we
get back."

"I 'm afraid I can't allow it at present," said Grace, very seriously.

"She is worse to-day. Otherwise I should n't be giving you this
trouble."

"Oh, it's no trouble"--"But I'm glad--I'm glad we've had this
understanding. I'm very glad. It makes me think worse of myself and
better of--others."

Libby gave a laugh. "And you like that? You're easily pleased."

She remained grave. "I ought to be able to tell you what I mean. But it
is n't possible--now. Will you let me beg your pardon?" she urged, with
impulsive earnestness.

"Why, yes," he answered, smiling.

"