oy. Worry about the honest
job you are expected to get--and hold."

Later on she said to him: "Some day I shall make it a point to see Lutie.
I will shake hands with her. You see, George dear," she went on
whimsically, "I don't in the least object to divorcees. They are not half
as common as divorces. And as for your contention that if you and Lutie
had a child to draw you together, I can only call your attention to the
fact that there are fewer divorces among people who have no children than
among those who have. The records--or at least the newspapers--prove that to
be a fact. In nine-tenths of the divorce cases you read about, the custody
of children is mentioned. That should prove something, eh? It ought to put
at rest forever the claim that children bind mismated people together.
They don't, and that is all there is about it."

George grinned in his embarrassment. "Well, I'll be off now, Anne. I'll
see Simmy this afternoon, as you suggest, and--" he hesitated, the worried
look coming into his eyes once more--"Oh, I say, Anne, I can't help
repeating what I said about your seeing Braden. Don't--"

"Good-bye, George," she broke in abruptly, a queer smile on her lips.

CHAPTER XVI

Braden Thorpe realised that he would have to pay, one way or another, for
what had happened in the operating room. Either his honour or his skill
would be attacked for the course his knife had taken.

The day after his grandfather's death, he went to the office of Dr. Bates,
the deposed family physician and adviser. He did not go in a cringing,
apologetic spirit, but as one unafraid, as one who is justified within
himself and fears not the report of evil. His heart was sore, for he knew
he was to be misjudged. Those men who looked on while he worked so
swiftly, so surely, so skilfully in that never-to-be-forgotten hour, were
not to be deceived. He knew too well that he had performed with the most
noteworthy skill, and, if he had any other feeling than that of grief for
the death of one who had been dear to him, it was that of pride in the
consciousness that he deserved the praise of these men for the manner in
which he performed the most delicate of operations. He knew that they
knew, quite as well as he, that but for the fatal swerving of half an inch
of the instrument in his steady fingers, Templeton Thorpe would not only
be alive at that moment but conceivably might be expected to survive for
many days.

They had seen every