“My dear, what a little fool you are! This is nothing to make such a fuss about. Your being married doesn’t necessarily make the slightest difference to me--and I’m sure the Caribbean winds will be just as soothing--and that the moonlight will be just as soft. The yacht will be ready next Thursday.” He tried to slip an arm about her. But she evaded him, and spoke quietly. “But my husband is now in New York!” “Oh, the devil!” And then he smiled again. “But I’m sure a woman of your quickness of mind can invent an excuse that will take care of your husband. You can trust that my end will all be managed quietly.” Again she avoided an attempted embrace. “But he is now in this hotel--and he knows I’m here--and he’s so jealous--” “The devil!” This time he did not smile. “That is some complication! You certainly do have to be discreet!” He thought quickly. “You’d better move from this hotel to some place where you will not be so easily under his eye. Anyhow, I was going to suggest your moving on account of Miss Jones. Being this close to her, she might any time stumble on to--you know, between you and Jack.” “I’m going to move to-night,” she agreed, her mind all on how she was going to rid herself of him, and yet not offend him. “Good! Now, as token and seal of our understanding--” He bent toward her with pursed lips. She checked him with the thrust of a stiffened arm. “Not now!” “Some day, then? And soon?” She eyed him steadily. “Sometime, perhaps--if when that time comes you still want to.” He had no suspicion of what was in her mind. He smiled. “Oh, I shall want to! But don’t set the time too far--” The telephone on her desk began to ring. In relief at the interruption she seized it--but the relief was gone as she heard the voice that came over the wire. “Yes, I’m alone,” she replied into the mouthpiece. “You may see me right away.” “Who was that?” asked Morton as she hung up. “My husband.” “My cue for a quick exit! Remember, my dear”--he seized both her hands--“we’re going to have that little cruise just the same. I’ll give orders--” “You must hurry,” she interrupted. While he had been speaking, she had reached quickly behind her back, opened a little drawer and thrust into it her hand. “You must hurry,” she repeated, and urgently pressed her hands against him--and while doing so she slipped the envelope containing the ten one-thousand-dollar bills into the inner pocket of his coat. “Go, please! Good-bye!” The next instant he was gone. Mary sank into a chair beside her window. She had won thus far through her wit and her will; but wit and will would serve her no further; she was spent--utterly spent. What was her culminating scene, the scene that would end her, lay just before her, and for it she had neither strength nor subterfuge nor courage. She had fought, through sheer force of habit, to the end--and at the end, which was only a moment ahead, she had lost. So she leaned back in her chair, limp, her eyes closed....