He went into the adjacent room and closed the door. For a little he was unable to get a connection; he waited. At length he heard the maid's voice on the line, and asked for Dorothy. Another wait. Then came the voice of Dorothy, coolly speaking his name. Something in her tone startled him. "Are you well, lady?" "Well enough in body, Reese," she said. "Not in mind. There is something you must do for me." "Yes? What is it?" "Make peace with Macgowan." Armstrong was staggered. "What do you mean, Dorothy?" "I can't explain over the telephone. Will you do it?" He laughed shortly. "Very likely. We've been beaten. We're discussing peace terms now. But what on earth made you ask me to do such a thing?" "A belated understanding of some things, Reese." "Good heavens, Dot, what's happened? Why, you speak as though something were wrong!" He heard her laugh without mirth. "No, nothing's wrong. When shall you be home?" "Not to-night. Probably to-morrow morning, unless you need me now. Do you?" "No, dear. Morning will do. Good-by, and all luck!" Armstrong dropped into a chair, a prey to furious indecision and tumultuous thought. From the very tone Dorothy had used, he knew that something was amiss, something had happened at home. What was it? What on earth had caused that coldness in her voice? It did not occur to him then that Macgowan might have struck him in a vital spot. He was tempted to rush home at once, seek the cause of the trouble, remove it. Dorothy had said no word, yet he understood that for some reason she was angered against him. But he could not leave here now; it was impossible. A knock at the door. Mansfield appeared, closed the door behind him, looked at Armstrong. He seemed startled by the tortured face, the distracted frown, that met his eyes. "Reese! What's happened? Anything new come up?" "No." Armstrong made a vague gesture. "Some trouble at home--I don't know what. I feel buffeted on every side--a whirlwind all around me--storm--" Mansfield regarded him in a singular manner. "God is never in the whirlwind," he said, his voice and his words strange. "Always in the still, small voice." "What do you mean?" Armstrong looked up, caught by the extraordinary air of the lawyer. "Eh?" Mansfield's face changed, altered to its usual dry alertness. He shrugged, took a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, sat down. "I have an offer direct from Findlater," he said, and looked at Armstrong. "Before presenting it, I wish to say that the answer must come from you alone. I cannot advise you. I can say only one thing: Consider it well! It is the only offer that we can get." "Name it," said Armstrong, collecting himself.