assure himself that she might
venture forward safely.

Opdyke was no sentimentalist. Nevertheless, he recognized all that it
might portend when such a girl as Olive Keltridge, the soul of sanity
and downrightness, talked about her comprehension of a man like
Brenton. Moreover, Opdyke was no gossip. Nevertheless, he had not
failed to hear a certain amount of speculation as to the possibilities
of Brenton's seeking a divorce. Sought, there was no question of his
getting it. Katharine's desertion was an established fact past all
gainsaying.

And, if he sought it and won it, what then? Merely the helping him
become as well worth while, as well worth Olive's while, as it was
possible for any man to be. This was the task which Reed had set
himself; the task for which he was bracing himself, during those two
endless hours; the task for the accomplishment of which he was
resolved, if need be, to tear away the coverings which, up to now, he
had held fast above certain of the reticences of his own life. The
tearing would be sure to hurt; but what of that? Olive, given the
opportunity, would have done as much for him.

The afternoon lengthened interminably, and the clock was striking the
half-hour, when Brenton finally came up the stairs. His face was grave,
as he greeted his old friend, his eyes a little overcast and heavy.

Reed jerked his head in the direction of a chair.

"Sit down," he said hospitably; "and then fill up your pipe. Duncan
doesn't smoke, worse luck; and I find I miss the old aroma. It's rather
like incense offered to the ghost of my old self."

His accent was trivial, and Brenton, listening to the apparently
careless words, could form no notion of the pains that had gone into
their choosing.

"Your new self, I should say. It's astounding, Opdyke, the way you've
picked yourself out of the rut and gone rushing ahead again."

"With a difference, though," Reed told him bluntly. "Is the jar full?
You like the kind?"

"Yes, thanks." And Brenton filled his pipe. After a minute's puffing,
"After all, Opdyke, you have pretty well minimized the difference," he
observed.

"Thanks to Ramsdell and Duncan, yes. They have been wonderful props,
and it's good to get on my professional legs again, whatever my bodily
ones may do for me. Meanwhile, how are things going with you?"

Brenton smoked in silence for a minute. Then,--

"The wraith of my departed priestly calling forbids me to phrase my
answer just as I'd