“Mowbray was not there! He was at the Country Club----” “_Was_ he?” “Yes, and it can be proved. Moreover, you know me well enough----” “It doesn’t matter what can be proved or what I believe. You waited for Mowbray--Do you suppose that Gregory--or any court of law----” “My God!” cried Ida. “You! You! I think it was that drove me off my head more than the prospect of disgrace and losing Gregory. You! What in God’s name is possessing you? I always knew that you would be the concentrated essence of all damn fool women that ever lived when you did fall in love, but I never believed it was in you to do anything dishonourable----” “And would you have believed that you, the concentrated essence of all that is cool, deliberate, calculating, would ever be inspired to commit murder? And for a man? What’s the use of talking? People possessed by love either are wholly themselves while it lasts, or are abnormal and should not be held accountable even to the law. I suppose this means that you too love Gregory Compton?” “Yes it does!” cried Ida, the more vehemently because it shamed her to put this unwonted weakness into words. “I do, damn it all! I do. I thought I was immune, but I guess we are all born with the microbe and it bites when the soil is good and ready.” Her anger had vanished, for in spite of Ora’s defiance she knew that she was master of the situation. She kicked the stiletto contemptuously aside, clasped her hips with her large firm hands and threw back her shoulders. “Now!” she said, “admit right here that you know I didn’t go to Mowbray’s rooms for any old intrigue. That kind of thing isn’t in me and you know it.” “I will confess I was surprised--I refused to believe it at first--Oh, I suppose I don’t. But it doesn’t matter----” “Are you ready to come with me this minute to Gregory and tell him that yarn--knowing that I can prove Mowbray wasn’t there--I say _go with me_--not by yourself.” Ora made no reply. She was beaten but she was not ready to admit it. “You may bet your life on one thing,” continued Ida. “You go with me or you don’t go at all, for I’ll stick to you like wet paint until this thing is settled once for all. Now just tell me what you meant a while back by Gregory’s resistance? When you found I wouldn’t consent to a divorce--of course you put him up to ask me, you traitorous little white devil--did you want him to elope with you?” “Yes I did!” “And he wouldn’t!” “He--he would not sacrifice me----” “Shucks! Where did you want him to go? To Europe?” “Yes.” “Good Lord! And what did you think you were going to do with him over there? Spoon in orange groves for forty years?” “There are several thousand resources in Europe besides orange groves--but you would never understand----”