For a space Clifford gazed after them, thinking. Again he had a profound sense that Jack was fundamentally a fine fellow; that what was chiefly wrong with him was that he had been swept into the resistless current of Big Pleasure--and that also he had been victimized by those who make a subtle business of playing upon the human weaknesses of those whom Big Pleasure sucks in--and that also, before and behind it all, he had never been properly guided by his worldly, masterful father. Clifford wondered whether this frank admission of faults, this declaration to make good, was merely a flare, merely the final spurt, of excellent qualities that were almost spent--or whether this was in truth the beginning of a splendid Jack Morton that was yet to be. The latter seemed to be the case. Two days later Clifford chanced upon Mr. Morton at the Biltmore. “Jack came back to work this morning,” commenced the financier, “and he’s behaving as though nothing is too hard for him. I guess I owe an awful lot to you for making me see that Mary was the only person who could straighten him out. She’s a wonderful woman! The way she’s behaved, it’s something I cannot understand!” “Don’t try to understand her,” said Clifford. “Just try to be thankful.” A new purpose had come into Clifford’s life since that night at Le Minuit. Rather it was his old purpose, but now more grimly determined on, and unmixed and undeterred by other considerations. He was out to get Loveman, and Bradley, and their fellows--and he was also out to protect Mary. And all this was now nothing more than a purely professional job, since matters were as they were with Jack and Mary. Clifford’s long-prevailing reason for holding back on Loveman and the others--that Mary might be free to work out her plan, and that Life might have the chance to test her--no longer had any force with him, now that Mary had exposed herself and renounced her ambition, now that she had nothing at stake. His determination to get Loveman was intensified by his certainty that Loveman was trying to get Mary: Loveman’s soft-spoken, cryptic remark in front of Le Minuit, about the game perhaps not being finished, and there perhaps being other cards to play, made him sure that this great spinner of webs had not ceased from spinning. Clifford, putting himself in Loveman’s place, realized that the little lawyer had motives for the most desperate action. Loveman had lost Mary out of his schemes forever; he realized that she would no longer protect him in order to protect herself; he hated her for having blocked him; and he feared her, feared her daily, for she had it in her power to secure his disbarment, to send him to prison. There was no doubt in Clifford’s mind that Loveman was planning--that Loveman would act. And he believed that Loveman, in daily fear, would act quickly. But what would Loveman do?