He looked at her in exasperation, measuring her and his own futility. “So you want to let that go?” “I think it’s better not to hurt him, Eric.” He shut the door of their room sharply and yet when she saw him again he had regained his quiet indifference to her doings. The friendship between her and the editor continued to flourish. They were in the dining-room on Tuesday, the third of August, when the morning papers were brought in. It was a sticky, hot, lifeless morning. Halves of grapefruit tipped wearily on the warmish plates. No one spoke much. The head of the silk department in Green’s was hurrying through his breakfast in order to get down to inspect the window trim. The stenographer at Bailey and Marshall’s had slipped into her place. Mrs. Thorstad was alert determinedly, Mr. Thorstad sagging a little beside her. Robinson picked up his paper first, casually, and uttered a low whistle. “That’s a bit of news,” he said. Several people craned and reached for the papers they had been too indolent to open. A headline ran across the page. PROMINENT CLUBMAN KILLS HIMSELF IN FASHIONABLE CLUB WALTER GRANGE CARPENTER, CAPITALIST, SHOOTS SELF FATALLY IN EARLY MORNING HOURS. CAUSE OF SUICIDE MYSTERY. They gathered around the news without a particle of sympathy. No one cared. He was a mystery and sensation--that was all. “Funny thing,” said Robinson. “I wonder what was at the bottom of that.” “I shouldn’t be surprised if it was the Duffield girl,” Mrs. Thorstad said rather casually. “Who was that?” “You know--the political organizer who was sent here for the Republican women.” “Was Carpenter in love with her?” “I think so. I saw him--well, perhaps I shouldn’t say--” Robinson gave her a keen glance and let the matter drop. But that night after dinner he sought her out again, segregating her from the rest of the people. Mr. Thorstad was not there. “What was it you were saying about that Miss Duffield?” She hedged a little. “Oh, I don’t like to talk scandal, Mr. Robinson. I’m no gossip. I never liked the woman. I always believed she made a great deal of trouble and I know she was not a good influence on my daughter. But I have no wish to malign her. If she is responsible for this tragedy, she and her free love doctrines have indeed wrought havoc--” She paused abruptly. “I wish you’d tell me what you know,” said Robinson. “I’ll confide in you, Mrs. Thorstad. I heard from a certain source to-day that Carpenter left this Duffield women everything he possessed. Every one seems to know they were seen around town constantly until she went away. There seems to have been considerable expectation that they would marry--surprise that they did not. Well--you can see that any information added--” “But what good would it do?” She pressed him, her utilitarian little mind anxious for results.