Jasper stared at the name. He was utterly bewildered, utterly staggered, by the amazing dissimulation practiced by this small, soft-lipped, round-eyed girl who had lived with him for so long, sufficiently pliable, sufficiently agreeable. What was back of it all? Another man, of course. In imagination he was examining the faces of his acquaintances, narrowing his lids as though the real men passed in review before him. "Perhaps you understand the situation better now?" asked Woodward cruelly. Jasper's intense pain and humiliation gave him a sort of calm. He seemed entirely cool when he moved back toward his brother-in-law; his eyes were clear, the heat had gone from his temples. He was even smiling a little, though there was a white, even frame to his lips. "I shall not write to Betty nor attempt to see her," he said quietly. "But I shall ask you to take a message to her." Woodward assented. "Tell her she shall have her release, but to get it she will have to walk through the mire and there will be no one waiting for her on the other side. Can you remember that? Not even you will be there." He was entirely self-assured so that Woodward felt a chill of dismay. "I shall contest the suit," went on Jasper, "and I believe that I shall win it. You may tell Betty so if you like or she can wait to hear it from my lawyer." He put the envelope into his pocket, crossed the room, and held back one of the crimson curtains of the door. "If you have nothing more to say," he smiled, "neither have I. Good-bye." He bowed slightly, and Woodward found himself passing before him in silence and some confusion. He stood for a moment in the hall and, having stammered his way to a cold "Good-afternoon," he put on his hat and went out. Jasper returned to the empty drawing-room and began his weaving march. Before he could begin his spinning which he hoped would entangle Betty and leave her powerless for him to hold or to release at will, he must go to Jane West and tell her what trick life with his help had played upon her. The prospect was bitterly distasteful. Jasper accused himself of selfishness. Because she cared nothing for the world, was a creature apart, he had let the world think what it would. He knew that an askance look would not hurt her; for himself, secure in innocence, he did not care; for Betty, he had thought her cruelly certain of him. He went to Jane the day after his interview with Woodward Kane. It was Sunday afternoon. She was out, but came in very soon, and he stood up to meet her with an air of confusion and guilt. "What's the matter with you?" she asked, pulling her gloves from her long hands. Her quickly observant eyes swept him. She walked to him and stood near. The frosty air was still about her and her face was lightly stung to color with exercise. Her wild eyes were startling under the brim of her smart, tailored hat.