She got up and walked to the window, evidently trying to compose herself. “It’s nothing that matters to any one but me. And I suppose you are thinking things that, even if they don’t matter, had better be set straight. For perhaps you think they matter. There’s nothing that I’ve done that I shouldn’t have done. I was there at that Inn--with--with my husband. It was just that we wanted--he even more than I at first until I learned why--to keep that little bit of life for ourselves. We didn’t want people to know--we didn’t want to share with any one except each other. I know you won’t understand but there’s nothing to condemn except that we had our own way of--caring.” “But I do understand,” answered Gage, “and I’m glad you told me. I do most entirely understand. Because I’ve felt that way. Is your husband here?” “He’s gone,” said Freda, “but he’ll come back. You see I married Gregory Macmillan.” A memory of that slim, gaunt young poet came to Gage. Yes, this was how he would do it. And how perfect they were--how beautiful it all was. “Mr. Flandon,” said Freda, “let them say what they please about me. Let them talk--they don’t know about Gregory--or do they?” “No--they don’t.” “Then don’t tell them, will you? Don’t tell any one. I don’t care what they say now if they don’t lay their hands on the truth. I can’t bear to have the truth in their mouths. Please--what do I care what any one says? I don’t know any one. I never see those people. He will be back and we’ll go away and they’ll forget me.” She was very beautiful as she pleaded with him, eyes fresh from their tears, her face full of resolution. “It’s all right, my dear,” said Gage, “no one shall know. You are right. Keep your memories to yourself. What they say doesn’t matter.” He was standing by her at the window now, looking down at her with a tenderness that was unmistakable. It was unfortunate that at that moment Mr. Sable entered without notice. II There was an argument that night. Sable had forced it. He had said that Gage had to “cut it out in his own office.” Gage had asked him what he meant by cutting it out and his partner said that he definitely meant getting that girl out of the office at once. “And my advice to you is to keep away from her after she is out.” The upshot was that Gage had refused. He had simply said that there was no reason why he should turn out a useful employee simply because any one disliked her or thought evilly of her. Miss Thorstad was extremely useful to him and there was nothing further to say. At which Sable had snorted in disdain. But, seeing Gage’s stubbornness he had possibly guessed at what might be the depth of it and grown milder. “It’s a difficult business for me, Gage,” he said, “but I’ve got to go through with it. She must leave the office. We can’t afford scandal.” “Suppose I won’t discharge her?” “I’m not supposing any such nonsense. You aren’t going to act that way unless you’re crazy.” “But if I did?”