worst you can say of her. As to you--"

"Well?"

Mr. Wheeler's anxiety was greater than his anger. He lowered his voice.

"She got a bill to-day for two or three boxes of flowers, sent to some
actress." And when Leslie said nothing, "I'm not condoning it, mind you.
You'd no business to do it. But," he added fretfully, "why the devil,
if you've got to act the fool, don't you have your bills sent to your
office?"

"I suppose I don't need to tell you that's all there was to it? Flowers,
I mean."

"I'm taking that for granted. But she says she won't go back."

Leslie was aghast and frightened. Not at the threat; she would go back,
of course. But she would always hold it against him. She cherished small
grudges faithfully. And he knew she would never understand, never see
her own contribution to his mild defection, nor comprehend the actual
innocence of those afternoons of tea and talk.

There was no sound from upstairs. Mr. Wheeler got his hat and went out,
calling to the dog. Jim came in whistling, looked in and said: "Hello,
Les," and disappeared. He sat in the growing twilight and cursed himself
for a fool. After all, where had he been heading? A man couldn't eat his
cake and have it. But he was resentful, too; he stressed rather hard his
own innocence, and chose to ignore the less innocent impulse that lay
behind it.

After a half hour or so he heard some one descending and Dick
Livingstone appeared in the hall. He called to him, and Dick entered the
room. Before he sat down he lighted a cigarette and in the flare of
the match Leslie got an impression of fatigue and of something new, of
trouble. But his own anxieties obsessed him.

"She's told you about it, I suppose?"

"I was a fool, of course. But it was only a matter of a few flowers
and some afternoon calls. She's a fine woman, Livingstone, and she is
lonely. The women have given her a pretty cold deal since the Clark
story. They copy her clothes and her walk, but they don't ask her into
their homes."

"Isn't the trouble more fundamental than that, Ward? I was thinking
about it upstairs. Nina was pretty frank. She says you've had your good
time and want to settle down, and that she is young and now is her only
chance. Later on there may be children, you know. She blames herself,
too, but she has a fairly clear idea of how it happened."

"Do you think she'll go back home?"

"She promised she would."

They sat smoking in silence. In the dining-room A