There was a sharp crack as the occasional table, never designed by its maker to bear heavy weights, gave way in a splintering flurry of broken legs under the pressure of the master of the house: and Sally's mood underwent an abrupt change. There are few situations in life which do not hold equal potentialities for both tragedy and farce, and it was the ludicrous side of this drama that chanced to appeal to Sally at this moment. Her sense of humour was tickled. It was, if she could have analysed her feelings, at herself that she was mocking--at the feeble sentimental Sally who had once conceived the absurd idea of taking this preposterous man seriously. She felt light-hearted and light-headed, and she sank into a chair with a gurgling laugh. The shock of his fall appeared to have had the desirable effect of restoring Gerald to something approaching intelligence. He picked himself up from the remains of a set of water-colours, gazing at Sally with growing disapproval. “No sympathy,” he said austerely. “I can't help it,” cried Sally. “It's too funny.” “Not funny,” corrected Gerald, his brain beginning to cloud once more. “What did you do it for?” Gerald returned for a moment to that mood of honest indignation, which had so strengthened his arm when wielding the niblick. He bethought him once again of his grievance. “Wasn't going to stand for it any longer,” he said heatedly. “A fellow's wife goes and lets him down... ruins his show by going off and playing in another show... why shouldn't I smash her things? Why should I stand for that sort of treatment? Why should I?” “Well, you haven't,” said Sally, “so there's no need to discuss it. You seem to have acted in a thoroughly manly and independent way.” “That's it. Manly independent.” He waggled his finger impressively. “Don't care what she says,” he continued. “Don't care if she never comes back. That woman...” Sally was not prepared to embark with him upon a discussion of the absent Elsa. Already the amusing aspect of the affair had begun to fade, and her hilarity was giving way to a tired distaste for the sordidness of the whole business. She had become aware that she could not endure the society of Gerald Foster much longer. She got up and spoke decidedly. “And now,” she said, “I'm going to tidy up.” Gerald had other views. “No,” he said with sudden solemnity. “No! Nothing of the kind. Leave it for her to find. Leave it as it is.” “Don't be silly. All this has got to be cleaned up. I'll do it. You go and sit in my apartment. I'll come and tell you when you can come back.” “No!” said Gerald, wagging his head. Sally stamped her foot among the crackling ruins. Quite suddenly the sight of him had become intolerable. “Do as I tell you,” she cried. Gerald wavered for a moment, but his brief militant mood was ebbing fast. After a faint protest he shuffled off, and Sally heard him go into her room. She breathed a deep breath of relief and turned to her task.