In Clifford there was wild exultation--a thrilling sense of triumph, too new as yet for him to think of its possible relation to himself. He had tried to influence her by influencing the events which touched her life--but never had he foreseen just such a _dénouement_ of events, just such a _dénouement_ of character. He had been right all the while, as to the fundamental worth of her nature! Morton stared at the pale, composed face of his daughter-in-law, which gazed with such steadiness into his own. He was utterly without words for a few seconds. Then he burst out:-- “Even if all of what you have said is true,” he cried desperately, “you are nevertheless the one person who can save Jack. We’ll overlook what you’ve been and what you’ve done. You’re Jack’s wife. Well, you’ve got to stand by him!” “I’m through with it all,” she said once more. Morton’s desperate, suppliant manner changed. Once again he was the keen, powerful personality that made him master of men and things. “You can’t slide out of it like that, Mary Morton,--to give you your right name for once,” he drove at her grimly. “Something seems to have awakened you--awakened you to what you regard as a real sense of honor. Well, here is something for this new sense of honor to consider: Whatever your motive was in marrying Jack, in marrying him you have incurred a definite obligation. It’s your duty, unless you want to be a quitter, and more of a crook than you were before, to fulfill that obligation!” She looked at him fixedly--for a long time. Then she slowly looked around at Clifford--then she looked back again, and her figure tensed. For a long time no one spoke. “It’s an obligation you have incurred!” Mr. Morton drove at her. “It’s your duty to fulfill it!” “My duty!” Her eyes grew wide, and she shivered. Her wide eyes remained fastened in their sickly stare upon Mr. Morton’s grim mandatory face; she was thinking, weighing the wide alternatives of life; influenced perhaps by the new point Mr. Morton had made, but not influenced by his attempted dominance. “My duty!” she breathed again. Then the life seemed to flow out of her. Her straight, slender body drooped and swayed, but a hand clutching the back of a gilt chair held her up. “Very well,” she said in a thin dry whisper. And then: “Very well--if you’ll let me tell Jack all I’ve told you, and if Jack then still wants me.” “You mustn’t tell him!” cried Mr. Morton sharply. “Even _your_ hold on him is precarious. Telling him might ruin everything. Why, I guess you’d better not even let him know that I know. Take him back to the Mordona--be Mr. and Mrs. Grayson for the present--pretend to be working toward a reconciliation with me. Keep everything a secret until Jack is established.” She smiled. The irony of it! How circumstances had reversed their positions: here was Mr. Morton urging almost the same arguments for secrecy that she had formerly used upon herself!