"Poor man!" she remarked. "You have got yourself into a bad mess, haven't you?" I nodded. "It didn't seem like one while I was getting into it," I said. "It's only now when I'm trying to get things straightened out that it seems so awful." "Let's see," she continued. "How many women is it you've been trying to keep away from each other? There's myself, of course, but wives don't count any more, do they? And there's Virginia Rutherford and Myrtle, and there was that blonde actress we met at Martha's Vineyard last summer, and is it one or two girls at the office?" Here was where I could object with complete sincerity. "I swear that I've not been fooling with any of the office girls," I said. "I know," Jimmie agreed wisely. "You always used to tell me that it was considered bad for business to play with the help but after I saw the way you went for Myrtle I decided that there were exceptions to every rule." "Nobody in the office," I repeated. "I swear it." "Then perhaps it was the office next door. Maybe you brokers have an exchange system for taking on each other's stenographers--charge it to business expenses for getting information about each other's dealings--but I know I've heard the name Briggs mentioned somehow in your connection." "The name means absolutely nothing to me," I insisted. "If it will make you any happier I'll admit to a hundred women but I'm through with all that sex-stuff. From now on, I'm going to be a one-woman man." Germaine faced me with an air of resolution. "Would you mind giving me a drink of brandy?" she asked. "I've something to say to you and I'm afraid you won't like it." I went to the portable bar and poured her a pony of Courvoisier. "Here you are. Down the hatch! And now what is it you want to tell me." "Believe me, Winnie," she said, "it's not easy for me. But I'd better say it anyhow. I can't keep on suppressing it. Who _are_ you?" "What's that?" "Who _are_ you?" she repeated. "You look like my husband but you don't talk like him. His clothes fit you but Virginia Rutherford is _quite_ right--you aren't Winnie Tompkins." "How did you guess?" "Don't think I'll give you away," she continued. "I won't because you must have had a terribly important reason for doing whatever you have done. You seem to be in deep trouble of some kind. I--I'd like to help you, if I can. Don't think I'm hard on my husband. It's been years since we--oh, you know. I married him for his money and I still don't know why he married me. Yes, I do, but I've never liked to admit it. He'd made a lot of money in the market and had built this house. He needed a wife the way he needed an automobile, a portable bar, a Capehart, a thoroughbred Great Dane and a membership in the Pond Club. I was available, at a price, which he met--but that's all there is to our story."