The pudgy jurist had risen painfully on one elbow and now sent the warning word in company with a look—same sort—Mrs. Sturgis’ way. “Thank God we are not too late, Helen,” he added after a throat-clearance, “to save dear Jane from this schemer. As I hoped, the formalities of our marriage law have not been complied with. This leaves you free to act as the foolish girl’s nearest of kin. It will be easy to secure an order from one of my friends at court restraining her further activities by committing her into your care.” “It will take more than an order from such friends at court as you will have after to-day to restrain Jane,” Pape suggested pleasantly. “Clearly she has acted under undue influence from you so far, young man,” Allen continued with impressment. “Were you half as clever as conspicuous you’d have got the ceremony over before coming here to threaten her family. As the husband of an orphaned young woman you might have had something to say, but——” “Orphaned?” With the interruption Pape crossed to one of the Fifth Avenue windows and there busied himself with a quite unnecessary readjustment of the shade. The lady of the house was apparently too disturbed to resent this new impertinence. “You know how I dread the courts, Samuel. Let me first try suasion.” In emotionful appeal she turned to Jane. “For sake of the dear, dead sister who was your mother, I beg you, as one who has tried to take a mother’s place, to give up this ill-timed attack of folly and this impossible man. Perhaps you inherited the tendency, for she also made a sad mistake in choosing her mate.” “She did?” the “orphan” asked quietly, her eyes on the velvet hangings of the hall door. “In marrying a Lauderdale—practically a pauper despite the family obsession of their claim to vast estates in the Borough of the Bronx—she ruined her life. She, too, became obsessed through his power to control her thoughts. Her life, as well as his, was one long nightmare of crown-grants, wills, deeds, what-nots. She died of it, dear, just as your father afterwards went down under disgrace and gloom. Now you, child, stain your white hands with this black magic. Excited by the craze for adventure of this person, you let yourself be led into indiscretions that bid fair to ruin you. Why not give him up now—this morning? I’ll stand by you no matter what is said.” “Me, too, dar-rling,” chimed in Irene. “I’ll soon be a matron, you know, and I’ll find you some adequate male, up-to-date though honest, whom we’ll persuade to forget and forgive.”