Being as terrified of him as of his rival, I prayed inwardly that he would go away. Once or twice in marching up and down he paused before my desk, and the pen almost dropped from my hand. I knew he was trying to formulate a hint that when Mrs. Brokenshire came again--But even on my part the thought would not go into words. Words made it gross, and it was what he must have discovered each time he approached me. Each time he approached me I fancied that his poetic eye grew apologetic, that his shoulders sagged, and that his hard, strong mouth became weak before syllables that would not pass the lips. Then he would veer away, searching doubtless some easier phrase, some more delicate suggestion, only to fail again. It was a relief when, after a last attempt, he passed into the corridor leading to the house. I could breathe, I could think; I could look back over the last half-hour and examine my conduct. I was not satisfied with it, because I had frustrated love--even that kind of love; and yet I asked myself how I could have acted differently. In substance I asked the same of Larry Strangways when he came to dine with me next day. Hugh being in Philadelphia on one of his pathetic cruises after work, I had invited Mr. Strangways by telephone, begging him to come on the ground that, having got me into this trouble, he must advise me as to getting out. "I didn't get you into the trouble," he smiled across the table. "I only helped to get you the job." "But when you got me the job, as you call it--" "I knew you would be able to do the work." "And did you think the work would be--this?" "I couldn't tell anything about that. I simply knew you could do the work--from all the points of view." "And do you think I've done it?" "I know you've done it. You couldn't do anything else. I won't go back of that." If my heart gave a sudden leap at these words it was because of the tone. It betrayed that quality behind the tone to which I had been responding, and of which I had been afraid, ever since I knew the man. By a great effort I kept my words on the casual, friendly plane, as I said: "Your confidence is flattering, but it doesn't help me. What I want to know is this: Assuming that they love each other, should I allow myself to be used as the pretext for their meetings?" "Does it do you any harm?" "Does it do them any good?" "Couldn't you let that be their affair?" "How can I, when I'm dragged into it?" "If you're only dragged into it to the extent of this afternoon--" "Only! You can use that word of a situation--" "In which you played propriety." "Oh, it wasn't playing." "Yes, it was; it was playing the game--as they only play it who aren't quitters but real sports." "But I'm not a sport. I've the quitter in me. I'm even thinking of flinging up the position--" "And leaving them to their fate." I smiled. "Couldn't I let that be their affair?" He, too, smiled, his head thrown back, his white teeth gleaming.