ch man--if he hates anyone, can he make trouble?"

"Money can do anything in this town," replied Mrs. Belloc. "But
usually rich men are timid and stingy. If they weren't, they'd make us
all cringe. As it is, I've heard some awful stories of how men and
women who've got some powerful person down on them have been hounded."

Mildred turned deathly sick. "I think I'll go to my room," she said,
rising uncertainly and forcing herself toward the door.

Mrs. Belloc's curiosity could not restrain itself. "You're leaving?"
she asked. "You're going back to your husband?"

She was startled when the girl abruptly turned on her and cried with
flashing eyes and voice strong and vibrant with passion: "Never!
Never! No matter what comes--NEVER!"

The rest of the day and that night she hid in her room and made no
effort to resist the terror that preyed upon her. Just as our strength
is often the source of weakness, so our weaknesses often give birth to
strength. Her terror of the little general, given full swing, shrieked
and grimaced itself into absurdity. She was ashamed of her orgy, was
laughing at it as the sun and intoxicating air of a typical New York
morning poured in upon her. She accepted Mrs. Belloc's invitation to
take a turn through the park and up Riverside Drive in a taxicab, came
back restored to her normal state of blind confidence in the future.
About noon Stanley Baird telephoned.

"We must not see each other again for some time," said he. "I rather
suspect that you--know--who may be having you watched."

"I'm sure of it," said she. "He warned me."

"Don't let that disturb you," pursued Stanley. "A man--a singing
teacher--his name's Eugene Jennings--will call on you this afternoon at
three. Do exactly as he suggests. Let him do all the talking."

She had intended to tell Baird frankly that she thought, indeed knew,
that it was highly dangerous for him to enter into her affairs in any
way, and to urge him to draw off. She felt that it was only fair to
act so toward one who had been unselfishly generous to her. But now
that the time for speaking had come, she found herself unable to speak.
Only by flatly refusing to have anything to do with his project could
she prevail upon him. To say less than that she had completely and
finally changed her mind would sound, and would be, insincere. And
that she could not say. She felt how noble it would be to say this, how
selfish, and weak, too, it was t