"By Jove, George,—I'd like to believe that of you," chattered Simmy. "Well, you can believe it. I'm not ashamed to confess what I'm doing. You may call me a baby, a fool, a crank or whatever you like,—I don't care. I've just got to see her, and this is the only way. Do you think I'd spoil things for her, now that she's made good? Think I'd butt in and queer it all? I'm no good, I'm a rotter, and I'm going to the devil as fast as I know how, Simmy. That's my affair, too. But I'm not mean enough to begrudge her the happiness she's found in spite of all us damned Tresslyns. Now, run along, Simmy, and don't worry about anything happening to her,—at least, so far as I'm concerned. She'll probably have her work cut out defending herself against some of her fine gentlemen, some of the respectable rotters in there. But she'll manage all right. She's the right sort, and she's had her lesson already. She won't be fooled again." Simmy's amazement had given way to concern. "Upon my word, George, I'm sorry for you. I had no idea that you felt as you do. It's too darned bad. I wish it could have been different with you two." "It could have been, as I've said before, if I'd had the back-bone of a caterpillar." "If you still love her as deeply as all this, why—" "Love her? Why, if she were to come out here this instant and smile on me, Simmy, I'd—I'd—God, I don't know what I'd do!" He drooped his head dejectedly, and Simmy saw that he was shaking. "It's too bad," said Simmy again, blinking. For a long time the two of them stood there, side by side, looking at the bright doorway across the street. Simmy was thinking hard. "See here, old fellow," he said at last, profoundly moved, "why don't you buck up and try to make something of yourself? It isn't too late. Do something that will make her proud of you. Do—" "Proud of me, eh?" sneered George. "The only thing I could do would be to jump into the river with my hands tied. She'd be proud of me for that." "Nonsense. Now listen to me. You don't want her to know that you've been put in jail, do you?" "What am I doing that would get me into jail?" "Loitering. Loafing suspiciously. Drinking. A lot of things, my boy. They'll nab you if you hang around here till three o'clock. You saw her go in, didn't you?" "Yes. She—she happened to turn her face this way when she got to the top of the steps. Saying something to the people she was with. God, I—she's the loveliest thing in—" He stopped short, and put his hand to his eyes. Simmy's grip tightened on George's arm, and then for five minutes he argued almost desperately with the younger man. In the end, Tresslyn agreed to go home. He would not go to Anne's. "And you'll not touch another drop to-night?" said Dodge, as they crossed over to the line of taxi-cabs.