"But not for your being--unconventional. I reckon Montague is alone responsible for that, while you, with your fascinating beauty, are responsible for nothing at all but the impulse.--Are you going to quit him--Porshinger, I mean?" "That is the question--and I don't know the answer. If I quit him, he will be revenged on Montague; if I don't quit him, I shall have to fight him for my reputation--or so much of it as is left." "Is he so bad as all that?" Gladys exclaimed. "He is. His one vulnerable point is his overweening desire to get into society. That fact may make him controllable. I'm between his Satanic Majesty and the deep water. _What to do_, Gladys, _what to do_?" "Do nothing," counselled her friend. "Be amiably polite, and refuse to see anything that you don't want to see or to infer anything that you don't want to infer." "Suppose he doesn't leave it to inference?" Gladys raised her eyebrows. "In that event, you tell Montague--and leave the rest to him. I rather fancy he will beat the life out of Porshinger; and I rather fancy he will enjoy doing it--very much enjoy it, indeed." "The difficulty is, you can't beat the life out of a man--even figuratively speaking--without creating a sensation, getting yourself talked about and, like enough, into the law's clutches." "If _you_ would be left out of the sensation and the talk, I reckon Montague wouldn't mind in the least," Gladys remarked. "No, I fancy he wouldn't--but I should mightily. He isn't my husband." "Not yet, unfortunately--you'll have to endure Harry Lorraine a bit longer. Pray that the longer may be very short--Oh! I'm not wishing him a corpse, Stephanie--before his time; but I would not prolong the time." Stephanie smiled a little wanly. "Unfortunately you are not the ultimate one. He must go his course to the end, and so must I--alone--and yet together, unless he reconsiders. That, however, does not particularly interest me now--or rather this matter of Porshinger interests me much more. I'm going to have trouble with that man, Gladys, I'm sure of it." "Aren't you anticipating, my dear?" asked Miss Chamberlain. "Certainly, I'm anticipating what I'm convinced is in future for me. If it shouldn't happen, I'm fortunate to have escaped." "And if it never threatens, you're unfortunate in having anticipated." "I'm unfortunate anyway, so a little more or less won't matter," Stephanie answered. "You unfortunate? A woman with your face and figure and presence--with true friends, both male and female--and Montague Pendleton. Oh, no! my dear, _oh, no_!--Oh, you may shrug those pretty shoulders. I know what you mean--but that is past and passing. You've had an experience, a wonderful experience, and you're the better for it, I think--and as you yourself know. It hasn't hurt you; it's only made you appreciate who are your friends and proven the extent of their regard." "Was it just to my friends to have their regard for me put to such a severe test?"