Long after Derry had gone to bed, the Doctor sat there pondering on Hilda's treachery. He was in some ways a simple man--swayed by the impulse of the moment. The thought of deliberate plotting was abhorrent. In his light way he had taken her lightly. He had laughed at her. He had teased Jean, he had teased Emily, calling their intuition jealousy. Yet they had known better than he. And why should not women know women better than men know them? Just as men know men in a way that women could never know. Sex erected barriers--there was always the instinct to charm, to don one's gayest plumage; even Hilda's frankness had been used as a lure; she knew he liked it. Would she have been so frank if she had not felt its stimulus to a man of his type? And, after all, had she really been frank? Such a woman was like a poisonous weed; and he had thought she might bloom in the same garden with Jean--until Emily had told him. He turned to the thought of Emily with relief. Thank God he could leave Jean in her care. If Derry went, there would still be Emily with her sweet sanity, and her wise counsels. He felt very old as he went upstairs. He stood for a long time in front of his wife's picture. How sweet she had been in her forget-me-not gown--how little and tender! Their love had burned in a white flame--there would never be anything like that for him again. He waked in the morning, however, ready for all that was before him. He was a man who dwelt little on the past. There was always the day's work, and the work of the day after. His appetite for the work of the coming day was, it must be confessed, whetted somewhat by the thought of what he would say to Hilda. They had an early breakfast, with Jean between her father and Derry and eating nothing for very happiness. There was the start in the opal light of the early morning, with a faint rose sky making a background for the cross on the College, and the chimes saying "Seven o'clock." Jim and Mary Connolly came out in the biting air to see them off. Then Mary went over to the church to pray for Jean and Derry. But first of all she prayed for her sons. The Doctor, arriving at his office, at once called up Hilda. "I must see you as soon as possible." "What has Derry Drake been telling you?" "How do you know that he has told me anything?" "By your voice. And you needn't think that you are going to scold me." "I shall scold you for disobeying orders. I thought you were to be trusted, Hilda." "I am not a saint. You know that. And I am not sure that I want you to come. I shall send you away if you scold." She hung up the receiver and left him fuming. Her high-handed indifference to his authority sent him storming to Derry, "I've half a mind to stay away." "I think I would. It won't do any good to go--" But the Doctor went. He still hoped, optimistically, that Hilda might be induced to see the error of her ways.