"To be sure you could," he answered quickly, "if you only would. It isn't half as difficult as what you do at your office." He had not looked around. Sally was glad of that, for she was blushing--at her own temerity, she told herself. Again there was silence in the room, except for the rustling of papers. "Fox," said Sally, after five minutes of this, "what would you do with Charlie now? Would you send him back to college?" He put his papers down and turned. "Does the spirit move you to talk now?" Again she nodded. "I think so. The little rest has done me good. And I should like to have your advice." He came to the chair near hers. "What happened after I left you last night?" "Nothing in particular," she answered. "I don't remember that we said anything of consequence. I had a talk with Charlie, early this morning." She gave him the substance of it; if it could be said to have any substance. "This is the council of war," she added, smiling somewhat wearily, "that is to settle his fate." Fox sat contemplating the wall. "It seems rather hard to say 'no' to your question," he said at last, slowly, "but I should be inclined to advise it. Have you any assurance--besides Charlie's promise, that is--that he will not return to his bad habits?" "No, none of consequence. I am afraid he would. If--if he went into the office with me now, I could keep an eye on him. That is," she amended rather hopelessly, "I could try to. Charlie would probably have no trouble in deceiving me if he tried to. I thought that Henrietta might be willing to help about him. She might be able to do more with him than I could." "Of course she would be willing." "She seems to have influence with Charlie and I should think she would be willing to use it for his good. I haven't any influence," she continued, "except through his fear of being found out. I don't know how it happened--that doesn't matter especially--but he doesn't trust me. I'm sorry, but that's the way it is." She sighed and looked away. Fox did not like to have her look away. He much preferred to have those gray eyes look trustingly into his. "You may be sure that it's through no fault of yours, Sally." "Perhaps," Sally returned, looking back at him. "Perhaps, but I'm not so sure. Very likely it is my fault. At any rate, it can't be helped. That's the way it's gone." She stopped and seemed to be considering; wondering, perhaps, how she should have done. She could not have done differently, being herself. There was always, at the bottom of her heart, an utter contempt for--well, she would not complete that thought. And she sighed again and resumed. Fox had said nothing.