"Thank you, again," he said. "I have had few compliments in my life, and that is one." Again he sat quite still, all but the great hands, the only feature of him that ever showed restlessness or rebellion. "To begin with," he resumed suddenly, "I am a lawyer, not a preacher. My business is with marriage the contract, not marriage the sacrament. Sentiment has no place in law. Contracts are promises to deliver certain tangible considerations; otherwise there would be none. Again contracts are specified or implied; but morally equally binding, equally inviolable. In the eye of the law when you married Margery Cooper you contracted, by implication, to deliver certain considerations, chief among them one purely psychological--happiness. By implication you did this. Is it not so?" "Yes, by implication." "Have you fulfilled that contract?" "I have tried." "The law does not recognize attempts. We're ignoring the Church and sentiment now. Have you fulfilled your contract?" "No; I failed." "You admit it freely?" "Yes; I can't do otherwise." "Let's drop the legal point of view then. You know why you failed?" "Yes, and no. A contract carries a mutual obligation. Margery failed also." Roberts flashed a look. "Do you desire a separation, too?" incisively. "No, God, no!" It was sudden panic. "I love her." "And she loves you," evenly. "She'll return, unquestionably--and in the future will go again as inevitably, unless you fulfil your contract. It's life." Again Harry Randall stared straight before him, the weight of the universe suddenly on his shoulders. "Fulfill--" he halted. "Supposing I can't fulfill?" "Wait. We'll discuss that in a moment. First, you admit there was a certain justification for what she has done?" No rebellion this time, no false pride. "Yes," simply; "you were right. I admit it." "The contract of implied happiness then; you failed because--" Randall completed the sentence as was intended. "Because we could not live, cannot live, as Margery demands, upon what it is possible for me to make. There is absolutely no other reason." "She is extravagant, you think?" "For the wife of one in my position, yes." "I didn't ask you that. Is she extravagant, for herself as she is?" Against his will the first suggestion of color showed on Randall's face. "I fail to see the distinction," he said. "In other words," remorselessly, "you question my right to wield the probe. You prefer not to be hurt even to effect a cure." "No, I repeat that I'm not a cad. Besides, I've told you I trust you. When a woman marries a man, though, with her eyes open--" He caught himself. "Pardon me, I'm ashamed to have said that. To answer your question: no; Margery wasn't extravagant in the least by her standard." "You mean by 'her standard,'" apparently Roberts had heard only the last sentence, "the habit and experience of her whole life, of twenty-two years of precedent when you married her." "Yes."