He turned from the telephone and sauntered toward Neville, who regarded him with a fixed stare. "You see," he remarked with a shrug; and drew from his pocket a slightly twisted scarf pin--a big horse-shoe set with sapphires and diamonds--the kind of pin some kinds of men use in their riding-stocks. "I've often seen him wearing it," he said carelessly. "Curious how it could have become twisted and entangled in Miss West's lace waist." He held out the pin, turning it over reflectively as the facets of the gems caught and flashed back the light from the hall brackets. "I'll drop it into the poor-box I think," he mused. "Cardemon will remain away so long that this pin will be entirely out of fashion when he returns." After a few moments Neville drew a long, deep breath, and his clenched hands relaxed. "Sure," commented the burly doctor. "That's right--feeling better--rush of common sense to the head. Well, I've got to go." "Will you be here in the morning?" "I think not. She'll be all right. If she isn't, send over for me." "You don't think that the shock--the exhaustion--" "Naw," said the big doctor with good-natured contempt; "she's going to be all right in the morning.... She's a lovely creature, isn't she? Sam said so. Sam has an eye for beauty. But, by jinks! I was scarcely prepared for such physical perfection--h'm!--or such fine and nice discrimination--or for such pluck.... God knows what people's families want these days. If the world mated properly our best families would be extinct in another generation.... You're one of 'em; you'd better get diligent before the world wakes up with a rush of common sense to its doddering old head." He gave him both hands, warmly, cordially: "Good-bye, Louis." Neville said: "I want you to know that I'd marry her to-morrow if she'd have me, Billy." The doctor lifted his eyebrows. "Won't she?" "No." "Then probably you're not up to sample. A girl like that is no fool. She'll require a lot in a man. However, you're young; and you may make good yet." "You don't understand, Billy--" "Yes, I do. She wears a dinky miniature of you against her naked heart. Yes, I guess I understand.... And I guess she's that kind of a girl all unselfishness and innocence, and generous perversity and--quixotic love.... It's too bad, Louis. I guess you're up against it for fair." He surveyed the younger man, shook his head: "They can't stand for her, can they?" "No." "And she won't stand for snaking you out of the fold. That's it, I fancy?" "Yes." "Too bad--too bad. She's a fine woman--a very fine little woman. That's the kind a man ought to marry and bother the Almighty with gratitude all the rest of his life. Well--well! Your family is your own after all; and I live in Dartford, thank God!--not on lower Fifth Avenue or Tenth Street." He started away, halted, came back: "Couldn't you run away with her?" he asked anxiously. "She won't," replied Neville, unsmiling.