"I don't need any excuse, thank you, dear," Devereux replied. "Well, tackle her without one and feel yourself laid out in a cold bath." "I likely would!" Devereux laughed. Then he became serious. "What the devil _was_ her idea in having Porshinger? Gladys Chamberlain is the last one to be inoculated with the money madness that seems to have afflicted the rest of the social world." "Yes," said Cameron, "if she had been any of a score of women, I should say that she was fascinated by his wealth, but I'll not believe it of Gladys." "She has no need," observed Burgoyne. "Old Chamberlain's got enough, the Lord knows!" "What do you think, Pendleton?" demanded Devereux. "I don't think." "Merely negative, or do you mean you don't want to think?" "A little of both, thank you," said Pendleton. "I believe you have been confided in by the lady!" Devereux exclaimed. "Then if that be the case----" "Sure thing--you daren't babble!" admitted Devereux. "However, she has a reason, and I'm damn curious to know what it is--though I bet it is a woman's reason, which is no reason at all." But Pendleton did not enlighten him by so much as a look, and the next moment the car drew up at the station. That afternoon, when he was about to leave his office, Pendleton had a telephone call from the Hospital. Lorraine wanted to see him, the resident physician said, and would he come around before dinner; something seemed to be on Lorraine's mind, to be worrying and exciting him. He was much better and it would do him no harm to see Pendleton a short while. "I'll come at once," said Pendleton. Lorraine was sitting up in a pillowed chair when he entered. "How are you, Pendleton?" he said somewhat weakly, and holding out his hand. "I hope I'm not too much of a bother to you." "Not a bit," replied Montague. "I'm glad to see you so far on the mend. I feared that you were pretty much all in, from the newspaper accounts of the accident." "I thought so myself--or rather I didn't think until later. However, I'm not so much battered up as they had thought, and I'll be out in a week; a trifle bruised and cut and sore, possibly, but nothing serious. My head is all right--the injury was only temporary, thank the Lord!" "That's a great comfort to know," Pendleton answered heartily. "If one's head is right, the rest will soon come around." "Yes--yes," said Lorraine. "I'll be out of this in a week." He glanced impatiently toward the nurse, who was standing in the window. "I'll be out in a week," he repeated.--"Miss Sayles, will you excuse Mr. Pendleton and me a moment--I'll call you when we're through.--It will take only a very short time." "I'll be in the corridor," the nurse smiled--with a glance at Pendleton, which he understood as a warning not to stay too long. Lorraine waited until Miss Sayles had gone out and closed the door quietly behind her, then he said:--