His last words were an even-toned affirmation of a commonplace, not a question. Clifford watched Mary closely: of a certainty, Life was testing her! He waited tensely for her reply, and so did Jack--and Clifford realized what vague worlds of different events hung upon the words yet within her lips. “I am Jack’s mistress--yes,” she said, looking very straight into Mr. Morton’s eyes. “Mary, that’s--” “Jack!” she ordered sharply. “There’s no nonsense about you, Mary,” said Mr. Morton approvingly. “Jack has braced up so much recently--” “If I have braced up, it’s been because Mary has made me!” put in Jack. “I don’t doubt it, and I want to thank you, Mary. He’s braced up so much that a long-contemplated marriage, which has been delayed by his irresponsibility, can now go through; and I want it settled and over with, quick, while Jack is still in a reformed mood--before he breaks loose again. I know you’ll be sensible and reasonable about this matter, for I know you went into the affair knowing it could not last.” Jack seized his father’s arm. “Father, you’ve got to listen--” “Jack!” Mary again cried peremptorily. “She’s taking it with a lot more sense than you are, son. I’ll see that you have no reason to complain, Mary. I’ll ask Mr. Clifford to talk over the arrangement with you. He can speak in better taste for me than I can speak for myself.” He took her hand, and there was a very real admiration--of its sort--in his gray eyes. He spoke in a lowered voice. “Merely because Jack must go, I don’t want it to be the end of things between you and the Mortons. I hope I may have the pleasure of seeing you soon.” “Perhaps,” said her lips. “I shall count on it!”--pressing her hand. He turned away. “Well, son, are you ready? I’ve made an engagement for you for to-night.” But Jack sprang to Mary’s side, and seized in both of his the hand his father had just relinquished. His handsome if weak face was working with indignant, protesting passion; for the moment he was strong and sincere and fine to the capacity of his nature. “Mary, I’m not going to stand for this! I’m not going to leave you in this way--I’m not that kind of a rat!” “We’re going to do just as your father says, Jack,” she said with quiet dominance, her face very pale. “What he suggests is wisest for us all.” Jack stared at her; he could not read whether there was subterfuge or utter finality in her words. But whatever her purpose, he recognized that in this situation her way had to be his. His figure slumped down, and he turned about. “Put into a suitcase whatever you may need at once; you can send for your other things,” said his father, and pressed him through the door. “Mary, after a few minutes in the next room with me, Mr. Clifford will return for a talk with you. For myself this must be good-night.” “Good-night.”