Mary-Clare threw back her head and
spiritually retreated to her vantage of safety.

"No, it wasn't," she said, taking to her own hard-won trail
desperately. "No, it wasn't! I cannot accept that Larry--why, I have
seen where such reasoning would lead. I saw the night our last baby
came--and went. I'd grow old and broken--you'd hate me; there would be
children--many of them, poor, sad little things--looking at me with
dreadful eyes, accusing me. If marriage means only one thing--it means
that to me and you, and no woman has the right to--to become like
that."

"Wanting to defy the laws of God, eh?" Larry grew virtuous. "We all
grow old, don't we? Men work for women; women do their share. Children
are natural, ain't they? What's the institution of marriage for,
anyway?" And now Larry's mouth was again hardening.

"Larry, oh! Larry, please don't make me laugh! If I should laugh there
would never be any hope of our getting together."

For some reason this almost hysterical appeal roused the worst in
Larry. The things Maclin had told him that day again took fire and
spread where Maclin could never have dreamed of their spreading. The
liquor was losing its sustaining effect--it was leaving Larry to
flounder in his weak will, and he abandoned his futile tactics.

"Who's that man at the inn?" he asked.

The suddenness of the question, its irrelevancy, made Mary-Clare
start. For a moment the words meant absolutely nothing to her and
then because she was bared, nervously, to every attack, she
flushed--recalling with absurd clearness Northrup's look and tone.

"I don't know," she said.

"That's a lie. How long has he been here, snooping around?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, Larry." This was not true, and Larry
caught the quiver in the tones.

Again he got up and became the masterful male; the injured husband;
the protector of his home. There were still tactics to be tested.

"See here, Mary-Clare, I've caught on. You never cared for me. You
married me from what you called duty; your sense of decency held until
your own comfort and pleasure got in between--then you were ready to
fling me off like an old mit and term it by high-sounding names. Now
comes along this stranger, from God knows where, looking about for the
devil knows what--and taking what lies about in order to pass the
time. I haven't lived in the world for nothing, Mary-Clare. Now lay
this along with the other woman-thoughts you're so fond of. I'm going