Elsie sighed, and ran her fingers through her hair as if its light weight on her head were intolerable. “I don’t enjoy being hard and suspicious, but I feel as if I never could forgive her—and I simply can’t go there at present. But you must. Gita shan’t have Geoffrey! Everything she wants! It would be a little too much!” Polly stepped down to the floor. “I’ll go. And if it’s war to the knife, all right. Gita’ll not get him, not while I’m on the job.” Her eyes were almost black and her pretty coral mouth was a straight line with sharp corner-depressions. “Trust me.” “Geoffrey isn’t the man to think about the wife of his friend, lying helpless,” Elsie reminded her insistently. “He’ll turn to you with relief. That’s your chance. Take it. He must believe—half believe—that Gita did it intentionally; and he is—ought to be—the sort of man to be revolted. I wish human nature were more of a chart!” * * * * * Gita, hearing the door open softly, turned expectantly and was amazed to see Polly instead of Elsie. She drew her over into a corner of the room and Polly whispered: “Elsie telephoned and of course I came at once. Have sent for my trunks and I’ll stay till he’s well. She’s got to a place in her new novel where she doesn’t dare drop it (Polly concocted this hastily), but she knows you’ll understand, and will be over before long.” “Oh? That’s the first clumsy lie I ever heard you get off. It’s plain Elsie still thinks I tried to kill Eustace.” “What if she does? What does it matter? She’ll get over it—ought to be rather grateful to you—have my suspicions——” “Yes, it was plain enough last night. Poor Elsie! Well, I’ll give her every chance. But I can’t think why she doubts my word.” And her lip, for the first time since she was a child, quivered. Polly, whose affection was not even threatened, for she guessed shrewdly that Gita’s pride and almost fanatical sense of honor would prompt her to avoid Geoffrey Pelham and give herself a clear field, patted her hand. “Cheer up. I’ll make her see daylight as soon as she gets over this attack of temperament. That’s what it amounts to. She’s every bit as fond of you as I am.” CHAPTER XVII Friendship between men may survive rivalry in love. Men have stood shoulder to shoulder through the centuries in the hard business of life, and the need of a strong abiding affection for one of their own understanding sex, is rooted in the depths of being and not to be lightly surrendered. There are instances where the woman has been sacrificed.