He stepped forward quickly and took her in his arms. “Helen,” he cried, brokenly, “I didn’t mean that! I didn’t know what I was saying! It’s because I love you that I’m so harsh with you. Can’t you see I’ve been in hell ever since this trouble began? Everything I’ve done has been done for you. I’ve made mistakes. I’ve done wrong. I’ve got into a terrible mess. But God knows I want to get out of it; and I will get out of it, if you’ll only have patience. I hate that man West as much as you do. But I can’t throw him down now. It would mean ruin for me. Only listen to reason, won’t you? Besides, you haven’t anything against West. Hasn’t he always treated you civilly?” He hesitated, watching the tears that ran down her cheeks. “Well, hasn’t he? Answer me, Helen.” She drew herself away from him. She had a sudden temptation to tell him the whole truth. It seemed for an instant as if this avowal might clear up the whole trouble between them. Then she thought of what the other consequences might be, and she checked herself. “I can’t tell you, Douglas. You must not ask me to meet him again. I can’t look him in the face. The mere sight of him terrifies me.” He looked helplessly at her, thinking that he understood the full meaning of her words. Then he turned away. “I never thought I should drag you into this, Helen,” he said, bitterly. “I--I don’t blame you. Of course, I know it is all my fault.” “Then why not undo this fault?” she cried. “Why not----?” He held out his hand despairingly. “Don’t!” he exclaimed. “You don’t understand. You can’t. You women never can.” She dried her eyes and was about to leave the room. “Since you are determined not to have him here,” her husband remarked, with a resumption of reproach in his tone, “I’ll not ask him to stay. I’ll offer some excuse.” During the rest of the day they did not refer to West again. The next morning Briggs looked for a letter from him from Boston, but none came. Two days later he received a brief note that West had dictated to his stenographer in Washington. Pressing business had called him home; he had not even stopped over in New York. So that scene with Helen might have been avoided, after all, Briggs thought, with a sigh. He tried to forget about the episode, however, and during the next few days the pressure of campaign work absorbed him. The Citizens’ Club had endorsed his candidacy, and their support, he believed, would more than counterbalance the opposition within his own party. During the day he either received the crowds of importunate visitors, chiefly constituents with axes to grind, who seemed to think his time belonged to them, or he was working up the speeches that he was to deliver at night. He had long before ceased to write out what he intended to say; a few notes written on a card gave him all the cues he needed. He spent considerable time, however, in poring over statistics and over newspapers, from which he culled most of his material.