ed idea of
recompense--of making up to Eleanor for having secretly robbed her, by
telling her she had been robbed!--stirred some hope in him. He did not
love his wife; he was profoundly tired of her; but suppose, now, he did
throw himself upon her generosity and give her a chance to prove that
love which was a daily fatigue to him? Mere _Truth_ would, as Mrs.
Houghton said, go far toward saving Jacky. He was silent for a long
time. Then Mary Houghton said:

"I ought to tell you, Maurice, that Henry--who is the very best man in
the world, as well as the wisest!--doesn't agree with me about this
matter of confession. He doesn't understand women! He thinks you ought
not to tell Eleanor."

"I know. He said so. That first night, when I told him the whole hideous
business, he said so. And I thought he was right. I'm afraid I still
think so."

"He was wrong. Maurice, save the child! Tell Eleanor."

"That is what Edith said."

"_Edith!_" Mary Houghton was stupefied.

"Oh, not about this. I only mean Edith said once, 'Don't have a secret
from Eleanor.'"

"She was right," Edith's mother said, getting her breath.

Then they were silent again. A distant measure of ragtime floated up
from the lobby; once, as a heavy team passed down in the street, the
chandelier swayed, and little lights flickered among the faintly
clicking prisms. Mrs. Houghton looked at him--and looked away. Maurice
was thirty-one; his face was patient and melancholy; the old crinkling
laughter rarely made gay wrinkles about his eyes, yet wrinkles were
there, and his lips were cynical. Suddenly, he turned and struck his
hand on hers:

"I'll do it," he said....

Late that night Henry Houghton, listening to his Mary's story of this
talk, looked almost frightened. "Mary, it's an awful risk--Eleanor will
never stand up to it!"

"I think she will."

"My dear, when it comes to children, you--with your stars!--get down to
the elemental straighter than I do; I know that! And I admit that it is
terrible for Maurice's child to be scrapped, as he will be if he is
brought up by this impossible person. But as for Eleanor's helping
Maurice to save him from the scrap heap, you overlook the fact that to
tell a jealous woman that she has cause for jealousy is about as safe as
to take a lighted match into a powder magazine. There'll be an
explosion."

"Well," she said, "suppose there is?"

"Good heavens, Mary! Do you realize what that means? She'll leave him!"