“It's an ugly word, dear Madame Brandt,” said I, as gently as I could, “but you and I are strong people and needn't fear uttering it. Don't you think such a scandal would ruin Dale at the very beginning of his career?” There was a short silence. I was glad to see she was feminine enough to twist and tear her handkerchief. “What am I to do?” she asked at last. “I can't live this awful lonely life much longer. Sometimes I get the creeps.” I might have given her the sound advice to find healthy occupation in training crocodiles to sit up and beg; but an idea which advanced thinkers might classify as more suburban was beginning to take shape in my mind. “Has it occurred to you,” I said, “that now you have assumed the qualifications imposed by Captain Vauvenarde for bearing his name?” “I don't understand.” “You no longer perform in public. He would have no possible grievance against you.” “Are you suggesting that I should go back to my husband?” she gasped. “I am,” said I, feeling mighty diplomatic. She looked straight in front of her, with parted lips, fingering her handkerchief and evidently pondering the entirely new suggestion. I thought it best to let her ponder. As a general rule, people will do anything in the world rather than think; so, when one sees a human being wrapped in thought, one ought to regard wilful disturbance of the process as sacrilege. I lit a cigarette and wandered about the room. Eventually I came to a standstill before the Venus of Milo. But while I was admiring its calm, mysterious beauty, the development of a former idea took the shape of an inspiration which made my heart sing. Fate had put into my hands the chance of complete eumoiriety. If I could effect a reconciliation between Lola Brandt and her husband, Dale would be cured almost automatically of his infatuation, and I should be the Deputy Providence bringing happiness to six human beings--Lola Brandt, Captain Vauvenarde, Lady Kynnersley, Maisie Ellerton, Dale, and Mr. Anastasius Papadopoulos, who could not fail to be delighted at the happiness of his goddess. There also might burst joyously on the earth a brood of gleeful little Vauvenardes and merry little Kynnersleys, who might regard Simon de Gex as their mythical progenitor. It might add to the gaiety of regiments and the edification of parliaments. Acts should be judged, thought I, not according to their trivial essence, but by the light of their far-reaching consequences. Lola Brandt broke the silence. She did not look at me. She said: “I can't help feeling that you're my friend.” “I am,” I cried, in the exultation of my promotion to the role of Deputy Providence. “I am indeed. And a most devoted one.” “Will you let me think over what you've said for a day or two--and then come for an answer?” “Willingly,” said I. “And you won't----?” “What?” “No. I know you won't.” “Tell Dale?” I said, guessing. “No, of course not.”