To his wife David had talked pointedly of Margaret's affair. “It is not a matter of good sense,” he had said; “one can not pretend there is a prospect of happiness in such an affair. The man is no fool and may some day be a big man but it will not be the kind of bigness that will bring either happiness or contentment to a woman like Margaret. He may end his life in jail.” * * * * * McGregor and Edith walked up the gravel walk and stood by the front door of the Ormsby house. From the darkness on the veranda came the hearty voice of David. “Come and sit out here,” he said. McGregor stood silently waiting. Edith clung to his arm. Margaret got up and coming forward stood looking at them. With a jump at her heart she sensed the crisis suggested by the presence of these two people. Her voice trembled with alarm. “Come in,” she said, turning and leading the way into the house. The man and woman followed Margaret. At the door McGregor stopped and called to David. “We want you in here with us,” he said harshly. In the drawing room the four people waited. The great chandelier threw its light down upon them. In her chair Edith sat and looked at the floor. “I've made a mistake,” said McGregor. “I've been going on and on making a mistake.” He turned to Margaret. “We didn't count on something here. There is Edith. She isn't what we thought.” Edith said nothing. The weary stoop stayed in her shoulders. She felt that if McGregor had brought her to the house and to this woman he loved to seal their parting she would sit quietly until that was over and then go on to the loneliness she believed must be her portion. To Margaret the coming of the man and woman was a portent of evil. She also was silent, expecting a shock. When her lover spoke she also looked at the floor. To herself she was saying, “He is going to take himself away and marry this other woman. I must be prepared to hear him say that.” In the doorway stood David. “He is going to give me back Margaret,” he thought, and his heart danced with happiness. McGregor walked across the room and stood looking at the two women. His blue eyes were cold and filled with intense curiosity concerning them and himself. He wanted to test them and to test himself. “If I am clear-headed now I shall go on with the dream,” he thought. “If I fail in this I shall fail in everything.” Turning he took hold of the sleeve of David's coat and pulled him across the room so that the two men stood together. Then he looked hard at Margaret. As he talked to her he continued to stand thus with his hand on her father's arm. The action caught David's fancy and a thrill of admiration ran through him. “Here is a man,” he told himself. “You thought Edith was ready to see us get married. Well she was. She is now and you see what it has done to her,” said McGregor. The daughter of the ploughmaker started to speak. Her face was chalky white. McGregor threw up his hands.