He perched on the arm of her chair, and again demanded: "Will you? You've got plenty legal grounds for divorcing him--and you haven't any ethical grounds for not doing it." She said nothing. Her head drooped. She, who had blandly been his manager all day, felt managed when his "Will you?" pierced her, made her a woman. He put his forefinger under her chin and lifted it. She was conscious of his restless, demanding eyes. "Oh, I must think it over," she begged. "Then you will!" he triumphed. "Oh, my soul, we've bucked the world--you've won, and I will win. Mr. and Mrs. Babson will be won'erfully happy. They'll be a terribly modern couple, both on the job, with a bungalow and a Ford and two Persian cats and a library of Wells, and Compton Mackenzie, and Anatole France. And everybody will think they're exceptional, and not know they're really two lonely kids that curl up close to each other for comfort.... And now I'm going home and do a couple miles publicity for the Nassau Company.... Oh, my dear, my dear--" § 2 "I will keep my job--if I've had this world of offices wished on to me, at least I'll conquer it, and give my clerks a decent time," the business woman meditated. "But just the same--oh, I am a woman, and I do need love. I want Walter, and I want his child, my own baby and his." THE END