The man reflected. "It wouldn't be right to take him to his home. Maybe he's got a wife. These fellers beat 'em up when they get like this." "A wife? Beat them up—oh, you don't know what you are saying. He—" At this juncture George straightened out his powerful figure, shook off the Samaritan and with a loud, inarticulate cry rushed off down the street. The driver looked after the retreating figure in utter amazement. "By Gosh! Why—why; he ain't any more drunk than I am," he gasped. "Well, can you beat that? All bunk! It beats thunder what these panhandlers will do to pick up a dime or two. He was—say, he saw the cop, that's what it was. Lord, look at him go!" Tresslyn was racing wildly toward the corner. Lutie, aghast at this disgusting exhibition of trickery, watched the flying figure of her husband. She never knew that she was clinging to the arm of the driver. She only knew that her heart seemed to have turned to lead. As he turned the corner and disappeared from view, she found her voice and it seemed that it was not her own. He had swerved widely and almost lost his feet as he made the turn. He _was_ drunk! Her heart leaped with joy. He _was_ drunk. He had not tried to trick her. "Go after him!" she cried out, shaking the man in her agitation. "Find him! Don't let him get away. I—" But the policeman was at her elbow. "What's the matter here?" he demanded. "Panhandler," said the driver succinctly. "Just a poor wretch who—who wanted enough for—for more drink, I suppose," said Lutie, warily. Her heart was beating violently. She was immensely relieved by the policeman's amiable grunt. It signified that the matter was closed so far as he was concerned. He politely assisted her into the taxi-cab and repeated her tremulous directions to the driver. As the machine chortled off through the deserted street, she peered through the little window at the back. Her apprehensions faded. The officer was standing where she had left him. Then came Thorpe and Simmy Dodge in the dead hour of night and she learned that she had turned away from him when he was desperately ill. Sick and tortured, he had come to her and she had denied him. She looked so crushed, so pathetic that the two men undertook to convince her that she had nothing to fear,—they would protect her from George! She smiled wanly, shook her head, and confessed that she did not want to be protected against him. She wanted to surrender. She wanted _him_ to protect her. Suddenly she was transformed. She sprang to her feet and faced them, and she was resolute. Her voice rang with determination, her lips no longer drooped and trembled, and the appeal was gone from her eyes. "He must be found, Simmy," she said imperatively. "Find him and bring him here to me. This is his home. I want him here."