“A good photograph can be easily read nowadays, my boy,” replied Darrell, quietly; at the same time conscious that he had made a break that had better not be repeated. Joe gave a great sigh, and resumed his despondent attitude, nervously playing with the paper-cutter. “Eric, perhaps there are men who love their wives better than I do mine, but I am completely wrapped up in Lillian, and if I lost her I’d go to the dogs devilish quick. “You know my nature—I’m not a suspicious fool, nor am I constitutionally jealous, but I suppose I have a certain amount of the latter in my disposition—every man but an idiot has.” “That’s so. Remember Othello’s declaration about keeping a corner in the object of his love for other people’s uses. I reckon that’s the first corner we have any record of.” Joe’s face had flushed at the reference made by his companion. Quietly he went on: “As heaven is my judge I do not wish to harbor any unjust suspicion toward my wife—I would shield her with my life from the folly of her imprudence, if such it prove to be—but I am a man, and I cannot shut my eyes to certain facts set before me. I have done everything in my power to explain the matter to myself, offering all sorts of excuses for her, but it is useless, and I feel now that I must know the truth or go crazy.” “My dear fellow, this is indeed serious.” “Serious, Eric—may you never know the awful feeling that has pressed upon my heart during the last few weeks.” “Has it been that long?” “Yes, for two weeks I have noticed a difference in Lillian—she has hardly looked me in the face at all. Poor child, she is not accustomed to deceit, and a secret weighs upon her.” Darrell came near laughing, as he believed he had the key to the puzzle. Unaccustomed to deceit, forsooth—when it was his own mysterious actions that had disturbed Lillian. “Two weeks, you say, Joe?” “Well, I knew something about it before then. Accident revealed it to me. I will tell you all, and you can judge for yourself. “You know we live in a comfortable little house up on Eighty-sixth Street. I generally spend my days down-town at business, but I had a call up-town one morning, and my cabman drove me past my own house—I took a cab because the party I wished to see lived at a point inconvenient to the elevated, and besides I had a bushel of papers, more or less, to take him. “While passing my house I naturally looked in. “At that moment Lillian was opening the door and a fine-looking man entered whom she seemed to greet cordially. I wondered who he was, but forgot all about him until I came home in the evening. Somehow his face came up again before me—I waited to see if she would speak, and even made an opportunity for her to tell me of her visitor—she said nothing and I thought looked a trifle confused. “Eric, believe me, I dropped the matter then and there—who could look into those eyes—well-springs of truth as you have just observed—and believe deceit rested there?