rmed
a smile, a peculiar, appreciative smile.

"Granted," he said. "I admit failure." The smile passed like a dropped
curtain. "Moreover be assured I shall not dissimulate again. As a friend,
or whatever you wish, however, I advise you to think carefully before you
refuse an offer made in good faith and to your own advantage."

Listening, Harry Randall straightened. His lips closed tightly for a
second. "You mean, I presume," the words were painfully exact, "to remind
me that you hold my note for four hundred dollars, and to imply--" he
halted significantly.

For a moment the other man said nothing, the face of him told nothing.
Then deliberately, from an inner pocket, he drew out a leather wallet,
from the wallet a strip of paper, and held it so the other could read.
Still without a word he tore it to bits.

"The devil take your note!" he observed, succinctly and without heat.

"Mr. Roberts, you--" Randall's face was crimson, "you--"

"Yes--I--"

"You didn't mean--that, then, really?"

Roberts said nothing.

"I'm grateful for the confidence, believe me. It's not misplaced,
either. Accept my assurance of that too."

"My name is Roberts, not Shylock. I told you before I am American born,
of American parents."

"I beg your pardon," abjectly. The red had left Randall's face and in its
place, as on a mirror, was forming another look, of comprehension--and
more. "Yet you--advised; and if not that--" of a sudden he got to his
feet. Something was coming he knew to a certainty--something unexpected,
vital--and he felt better able so to meet it. "Just what did you mean?"

Roberts was studying him deliberately, with the peculiar analytical look
Armstrong of old had known so well.

"You can't imagine yet," he queried, "not with the motive you fancied
eliminated?"

"You wish to do me a kindness, a disinterested kindness. For what
reason?"

"Cut out my motive, providing I have one, for the present. It's
immaterial."

"That doesn't help--I can't conceive--" On a sudden came a flash of light
that augmented to a blaze. "Can it concern Margery and me? Is that it?"

Roberts did not look up. "Yes," he said.

"You know, then," tensely. "How much?"

"Everything." Roberts inspected the wall-paper opposite as though
interested. "If you'll permit me I'll help you to avoid an action for
divorce." A pause. "One, moreover, I can't help but feel somewhat
justified."

For long, very long, there was silence absolute. Then,