"Something like that, and all the while Katherine was entertaining and I’d promised to help. I didn’t go near them once." "Umph!" "So you see, Testy, it isn’t Katherine’s fault. The two roles don’t jibe, that’s the long and short of it." "And your love," Law was thinking aloud. "Your love and sense of right——" "I’m not a cad, Andy." "Leave this thing here for a day or two, Jim," Law raised the picture and carried it to the window. "I never saw such live light," he said. "Where did you get it." "I—I was lying under the Palisades one night and just at daybreak I saw it. It’s a home product, though it looks Oriental, doesn’t it?" "Yes, it does." There was silence for a few moments, then Norval asked in quite his natural manner, "And you won’t come away for a clip, Andy?" "Not until autumn, Jim, then I’m going to run up into Canada." "All right. Having got the—the live light out of my system, and if you won’t play with me, I’m going to coax Katherine to take me to any summer orgy she wants to. I owe it to her, she hasn’t had a good dance for ages." "Jim, you’re a fool or——" "A modest reflection of yourself, Testy." But something snapped that summer which sent the Norvals and Anderson Law whirling in widely different directions. In the upheaval Donelle and her small affairs were forgotten. Mrs. Law died suddenly. The doctors sent for Law and he got there in time. "She may, toward the end," they told him, "have a gleam of consciousness. Such things do happen. You would want to be with her." "Yes, in any case," Law replied and he took his place by the bed. In his heart was that cold fear which many know in the presence of death. The long afternoon hours drifted by. The face on the pillow, so tragically young because it did not show the tracings of experience, scarcely moved. Toward evening Law went to the west window to raise the shade, there was a particularly splendid sky. When he came back he saw that a change had come; the change, but instead of blotting out expression in his wife’s eyes, it was giving expression, meaning, to what had been, for so long, vacuous. Law wanted to call for help, but instead he sank limply into the chair and took the hand that was groping toward his. "I’m glad you’re here——" said the strained, hoarse voice. "I am glad, too, Helen." For years Law had not addressed his wife by name. That would have seemed sacrilege. "Have you been here all the time?" "Yes, dear." "That was like you! And the baby; it is all right?" "Yes, quite all right." "It is a boy?" Law struggled, then said: "Yes, Helen, a boy." "I’m glad. I want him to be like his father." She smiled vaguely; the light went out of her eyes, she drifted back. There were a few hours more of blank waiting, then it was over. A week later Law left a note for Norval. "I’m sorry, old chap, that I could not see you. Pass my regrets along. I’m off for the ends of the earth, and I’ve neglected buying a return ticket."