A lamp was burning on his desk, and the big logs he had thrown on the fire earlier in the evening had wasted to a mass of glowing coals. He added a stick or two, and soon a cheerful blaze was roaring in the wide chimney. Having rid himself of his hat and coat, Benson produced a black bottle and two glasses from his cupboard, and sugar and a pitcher of hot water from the kitchen; the judge watched these preparations with grave but silent approval. This approval grew and reached its zenith, when he on one side of the fireplace, and his host on the other, smiled and nodded over the rims of their glasses. They sipped in silent enjoyment, with their feet thrust out toward the fire. “Jake,” said the judge, “it's well that the pitcher has capacity. This is just right. If you attempted to duplicate it, you might fail. Failure is always a sad thing, Jake, a thing to be avoided.” “It is,” agreed Benson. “My dear boy, I am troubled,” said the judge. He threw a certain significance into the glance that accompanied these words. “And what have you to worry about?” questioned the younger man lazily. “I'm alone,” began the judge in his mellow voice. “Quite alone. I may say a homeless vagabond. This is the second time I've been locked out this winter. Now I ask you, Jake, what sort of a life is this for a man of my years, and if you will allow me, my position?” “Well,” said Benson, cheerfully, “you shouldn't forget your key.” “That's a detail I never had to burden myself with in Mrs. Bradly's lifetime, sir. It was her pride to care for me in such matters; it furnished her with occupation.” There was a long pause, during which the judge's glass was filled and emptied and filled again, and then he spoke. “Have you seen Mrs. Landray recently?” he asked. “Which Mrs. Landray?” “Bush's widow.” “Not recently; why?” “I was merely curious.” And he was silent again, but not for long. “Jake?” “Yes, judge.” “She's going to make a fool of herself.” “I dare say,” said Benson indifferently. The judge stared at him in some surprise. “You dare say?” he repeated. “I mean it's quite likely.” “In what particular?” demanded the judge. “Oh, in any particular,” said Benson. “I haven't formulated any definite theories where she is concerned.” The judge considered this in silence for a time. “This is merely a general opinion?” he asked at last. “Merely a general opinion,” said Benson amiably. “Then you haven't observed any new developments?” “No;” and Benson yawned. “You have heard no gossip?” “None; I didn't know there was any.” “You are quite sure you haven't noticed anything, Jake?” “Quite.” “Not this new bent of hers?” “Oh, you mean her religious interests? Why, they're natural enough. I thought them rather hopeful.” “Hopeful!” repeated the judge bristling. “Yes, certainly; religion's a good thing for any one.” “Religion!” and the judge snorted the word with angry contempt “Well, if you choose to call it religion!”