“Shall we return to the others?” The two women were sitting silently, making no pretense at casual talk, their curiosity as to what the two men had said to each other indisguisable. “We must go now, Adeline.” She rose, evidently torn by a desire to be easy and complaisant and a disgruntled lack of satisfaction in the interview. “Very well,” she said, “I’m sure I shall not be able to rest for a second until my daughter is safe and with me once more.” They were courteous to the little outbreak of melodrama but not too responsive. Helen and Gage accompanied their visitors to the door and saw them walk down the street, the sunlight bringing out the shiny seams in Mr. Thorstad’s coat, beating unmercifully on the defiant little daisies in his wife’s hat. Helen turned to her husband. “Why didn’t I hear of this?” “I didn’t know you’d be interested. You’ve been so interested in national affairs I couldn’t suppose you had time for little local troubles.” She set her lips in anger. “You gain nothing by viciousness, Gage. Where is that girl?” “Haven’t I said I didn’t know?” “I don’t believe you.” “That’s quite in line with your other theories of wifely conduct.” “I’m not interested in quarreling with you, Gage. I simply want to know for my own protection what is going on. Is it true that George Sable discharged that girl while you were away?” “Quite true.” “For what reason?” Gage lighted a swaggering cigarette. “His mind runs along with yours, Helen. He had the same delicate ideas you have.” “Where did the girl go?” “Didn’t you hear me say I didn’t know?” “Has she run away from you too? Have you got that girl into trouble?” “I always hated that phrase,” answered Gage, nonchalantly. “Why did you come back from Chicago so soon?” “Why should I stay? A fifth wheel? The entirely superfluous husband of one of the great feminist successes?” “I asked you why you came back.” She framed each word with an artificial calmness. “You haven’t taken so much interest in me for years, Helen. It’s true, isn’t it? All a man has to do is to get involved in a scandal to have the women after him.” She pressed her hand to her face as if to shut out the sight of him. “You’re a madman, Gage.” “I shouldn’t be surprised.” Then she dropped into a chair, weeping long sobs, drawn from emotion controlled beyond her strength. “Why do you torture me so, Gage? What devil possesses you?” He had always had a horror of seeing her weep. He took a step towards her. “I’m tired--I’m tired,” sobbed Helen. Gage stiffened. “And why are you tired? Because you’ve been running around Chicago. I didn’t tire you. You tire yourself. Then you come back exhausted and blame me because you are exhausted. If you were more a wife--less a public character--” She had risen and stood looking at him angrily again, eyes wide with hurt and disappointment.