Yes, he had certainly been a great ass. He had spoken to Mrs. Briggs in a way he would never have thought of speaking if he had been in his senses. However, now that the mischief was done, he must consider how to meet the consequences. What would the consequences be? Would she tell her husband? The answer to that question depended wholly on whether she believed the charge he had made against her husband’s integrity. West knew well enough that Mrs. Briggs had an absolute belief in her husband, and this knowledge had often caused him a contemptuous bitterness. Why should a man like Briggs be allowed to deceive such a woman as that? If Mrs. Briggs still kept her faith in her husband, there was no reason why she should not reveal the episode of the previous night--none except the woman’s natural fear of creating a scandal. This motive might be strong enough to keep her silent. But, of course, he could never enter her house again. He might, it is true--and the thought gave him a momentary relief--he might write her an apology, and explain his behavior on the plea of his condition. But that would be too humiliating, and it might give Briggs a hold on him that would be decidedly disagreeable, and lead to disastrous consequences. However, this expedient he could try as a final resort. It was, of course, possible that Mrs. Briggs would believe what he had said, or would make an investigation that would bring the truth home to her. Here was an interesting problem. Once convinced that her husband was a hypocrite, that he had made his money by means that she considered dishonest, would she still respect and love him? West took a satisfaction in thinking that if he had made himself ridiculous, he might have at least ruined the happiness of the woman who had repulsed him, and of the man for whom he had a covert hatred, caused partly by jealousy, partly by an instinctive consciousness of Briggs’s dislike, and partly by that natural aversion which all men have for those associated with them in dealings that degrade them in their own esteem. The green door leading into the adjoining room opened, and the office boy entered. “There’s a lady to see you, sir,” he said. Franklin West looked up. “Who is she?” “She told me just to say a lady wanted to see you.” “All right.” West rose slowly and left the room. A moment later he was greeting Miss Beatrice Wing. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said, with his large smile. Miss Wing was radiant in a new Spring frock, a tight-fitting blue serge suit, with a large hat, trimmed with blue flowers, resting jauntily on her auburn hair. “I don’t often come out so early,” she replied, “especially after such late hours.” She looked as if she had had the night’s rest of a child.