He sent for Grace, finally, and Elinor was established in the house. Grace and little Lily's governess had themselves bathed her and put her to bed, and Mademoiselle had smuggled out of the house the garments Elinor had worn into it. Grace had gone in the motor--one of the first in the city--and had sent back all sorts of lovely garments for Elinor to wear, and quantities of fine materials to be made into tiny garments. Grace was a practical woman, and she disliked the brooding look in Elinor's eyes. “Do you know,” she said to Howard that night, “I believe she is quite mad about him still.” “He ought to be drawn and quartered,” said Howard, savagely. Anthony Cardew gave Elinor sanctuary, but he refused to see her again. Except once. “Then, if it is a boy, you want me to leave him with you?” she asked, bending over her sewing. “Leave him with me! Do you mean that you intend to go back to that blackguard?” “He is my husband. He isn't always cruel.” “Good God!” shouted Anthony. “How did I ever happen to have such a craven creature for a daughter?” “Anyhow,” said Elinor, “it will be his child, father.” “When he turned you out, like any drab of the streets!” bellowed old Anthony. “He never cared for you. He married you to revenge himself on me. He sent you back here for the same reason. He'll take your child, and break its spirit and ruin its body, for the same reason. The man's a maniac.” But again, as on the night she came, he found himself helpless against Elinor's quiet impassivity. He knew that, let Jim Doyle so much as raise a beckoning finger, and she would go to him. He did not realize that Elinor had inherited from her quiet mother the dog-like quality of love in spite of cruelty. To Howard he stormed. He considered Elinor's infatuation indecent. She was not a Cardew. The Cardew women had some pride. And Howard, his handsome figure draped negligently against the library mantel, would puzzle over it, too. “I'm blessed if I understand it,” he would say. Elinor's child had been a boy, and old Anthony found some balm in Gilead. Jim Doyle had not raised a finger to beckon, and if he knew of his son, he made no sign. Anthony still ignored Elinor, but he saw in her child the third generation of Cardews. Lily he had never counted. He took steps to give the child the Cardew name, and the fact was announced in the newspapers. Then one day Elinor went out, and did not come back. It was something Anthony Cardew had not counted on, that a woman could love a man more than her child.