"Ought never to have done it, sweetness," said Edgerton gravely. "There are no fetters to hold a man like absolute freedom. He was probably bound to her in various ways, innocently enough, of course; but she was probably lonely and in trouble—and—noblesse oblige. I tell you a young man has to pay for sympathizing with an unhappily married woman! And she usually sees that he does." Christine sat back, nursing her knees, eyes downcast. "He was right," she said. "She was his friend." "Perhaps he was more right than you realize, Christine. When a man’s man friend is battered and used up, the man still clings to him—anyway, until he borrows money; but when his woman friend becomes slightly the worse for wear, he is inclined to discard her as naïvely as he would a worn-out coat. That is the rule—romance to the contrary.... Inwood proved the exception, that’s all." "Yes," said the girl in a low voice. "He proved the exception to me, too," said Edgerton, smiling. "To you, Jim?" "Certainly; wanted to lend me money when I arrived in town on my uppers." The girl smiled. "Oh, he’s all right," said Edgerton; "I’ve known him since he was six and I twelve." "He—is—all—right," repeated Christine slowly; "but—am I, Jim?" "You know you are—kleine Fischerin!" "But I wrote him that wretched letter. If it hurt him as it hurt me—" She ceased abruptly, and turned her face toward the window. "You were years younger, then." "One year," tremulously. "_Years_, sweetness.... Do you think your father will ever stand for him?" "He scarcely knows him. He did not understand why Mr. Inwood never came to Hot Springs, or why I never again saw him. Probably he supposes I lost interest." "So your father believes that you are all over that affair, doesn’t he?" "Yes; but he probably remembers that Mr. Inwood was to have come to Hot Springs, and didn’t. Fathers usually remember such things, and sometimes ask why." "Well, Christine," he said, smiling, "you’ll have to fix it with your father; and I think you can." "Why do you think so?" "Because there is much of your father in you—steel under the velvet skin of that pretty figure, or I miss my guess." The girl said thoughtfully: "I am, perhaps, more like father than Jack is.... That is not really what concerns me.... Has Mr. Inwood changed—in appearance?" "Within a year? No! Nor otherwise, I’ll wager." "Do you—think——" "I don’t know; I don’t know, little girl. Men are protean creatures; God knows what incarnation they’ll assume next! ... But if a woman really cares for a man, and if he isn’t in love with anybody else, it _ought_ to be a cinch—even if he had as many incarnations as Albert Chevallier!" "Jim!" "Well, I know my sex," he said; "the cleverest of them are boobs in the hands of yours——" "Jim! You are becoming horrid!"