To be sure, for the immediate present at least, she had apparently averted the danger of the discovery of her secret marriage to Jack Morton. But the danger of that discovery would keep on recurring--at least until she had finally won out. And there was the ever-present danger that her husband, and her husband’s father, might somehow learn who Mary Regan was and had been. And there was the elder Morton, eager in his amorous suit. And there was Peter Loveman, who might any time, to serve his own ends, proceed swiftly upon some course that would mean disaster for her. And then, there were those queer feelings which had been stirring in her since Maisie Jones, a choke in her voice, had called her fine!--wonderful!--and since Maisie, loving Jack, had declared Mary had proved that she would make far the better wife for Jack. Mary did not understand these strange emotions. She did not like them, and she tried to force them out of her being. But despite this effort there were fear-stricken moments when, with all her dangers, she felt that she could not even count upon herself. The next morning she called up Jack, telling him where she was. He could telephone her as often as he liked, she told him, if he would be careful to speak only when he was alone. But she forbade him coming to see her; that would be unsafe, as he might be followed. Jack protested against this order, but she was firm, and at length he gave his promise. As the days passed, days when she had no company except her own thoughts and Jack’s telephone messages, she reasoned herself out of the influence of those strange feelings begotten by the behavior and the words of Maisie Jones (at least she believed she did), and she reached a clearer conception of herself (or believed she did) and of what must be her future procedure. And the way she saw herself, her plans, her motives, was anything but unfavorable. She was just like most other women. She wanted position, yes--she wanted money, yes; and she was getting them in exactly the same way that the most proper and honored women were winning them, by playing her cards as a woman. As for what she was hiding--well, wasn’t all the world hiding something? She was merely doing what all were doing.