"I wouldn’t dare to tell him of the great wrong Bob has done to you. He’d disinherit him on the spot. If Bob were to insist on having this escapade—you wouldn’t really call it a marriage, would you?—but if he were to insist on its being made public, why, there’d be an end of his relations with his father. My husband would neither give him a cent nor leave him a cent. I must say that Bob would deserve it; but, Jennie, I’m thinking of you. You’d have forsaken the man you loved, married a man you didn’t care for, and got nothing in the world to show for it. That’s where you’d have to suffer, and I can see well enough that you’re suffering already." There was every reason now that Jennie’s tears should begin to flow. Flow they did while her companion watched. "And yet, as you’ll see, Mr. Collingham is not an unkind man. When I explained to him that we might be more indebted to you than I had thought at first, he said—" With a look of anticipation, Jennie stopped crying suddenly, though the tears already shed were glistening on her cheek. The point was now to find phraseology at once clear enough and delicate enough to suggest a course and yet not shock the sensibilities. "You see, my dear, it’s this way. One has to keep one’s ideals, hasn’t one? That goes without saying. Once we let our ideals go"—she flung her hands outward—"well, what’s the use of living? My own life hasn’t been as happy as you might think; and if it hadn’t been for my ideals—" Jennie broke in because she couldn’t help it. "Mr. Wray is ideal for a man, don’t you think, Mrs. Collingham?" It was the lead Junia needed. "He’s perfect, Jennie, in his way; and, oh, how I wish you were as free as forty-eight hours ago! You could be, of course, if—But I mustn’t advise you, must I? I don’t know how to. I’m just as lost as you are. Only, if you could find a way to cast the burden of the whole thing on Bob—" "Do you mean to make him get the divorce?" "In that case, we should want to feel that you had something to fall back upon. And so my husband thought that perhaps twenty-five thousand dollars—" Jennie gave a great gasp. Her head began to swim. Not villas and limousines rose before her, but cloud-capped towers and gorgeous palaces. "Poor daddy," she thought, "wouldn’t have to hunt for a job any more, and momma’d have nothing to do for the rest of her life but sit in a chair and rock." Yet that was only part of the vision. The rest did not go so easily into words. She had only to hurry to the studio, fling herself into the arms she was longing to feel clasped round her—and become fabulously rich. That would be if Bob took the opening she offered him. If he didn’t— "But suppose Bob won’t?" she asked, in terror lest he should not.