In her car, homeward bound, Geraldine DeLacy reflected exultingly. Fate had brought about the very situation she longed for but would have found difficult to arrange. How fortunate for her that she had held herself discriminatingly aloof at the luncheon yesterday. Hugh could only judge her to be a greatly wronged and unjustly accused woman. She congratulated herself again and again upon her cleverness in assuming the attitude of magnanimous generosity. His admiration and respect she knew she had attained, and she would determine upon her next move to-morrow night. With Mrs. DeLacy gone, Hugh Benton lost no time in searching out his wife. He went directly to her room. He opened the door unceremoniously and walked in. Marjorie was seated in a rocker by the window, her eyes inflamed and swollen with weeping. She glanced up surprisedly as Hugh entered—quite an unusual thing for him to do without knocking. “I suppose you have come to apologize,” she faltered, “for the dreadful way in which you humiliated me.” “Apologize!” he fairly exploded. “I should say not—I have come to ask you how you dared to insult Mrs. DeLacy in that manner?” “So that’s it!” Marjorie bounded to her feet. “You should be ashamed to mention her name in my presence—your——” Something in his eyes forbade her finishing the sentence as it had been intended, but she went on, instead: “A woman who comes into my life for the sole purpose of wrecking it—I wasn’t afraid to face her with the truth.” “But that’s just it,” thundered the husband, “it wasn’t the truth.” Marjorie Benton laughed her hard laugh. She dropped into the chair from which she had risen, but her hand trembled as she searched for a magazine. Her thin shoulders shrugged, her eyebrows lifted. “So?” she inquired coolly. “Then perhaps I spoke just in time to prevent it from ever becoming—the truth.” Hugh stared at her in blank amazement. “Marjorie, I believe you are going insane—it is so utterly ridiculous for me to attempt even to argue with you.” With no further word, he rushed from the room, colliding with Howard at the door, and almost knocking him over. “Good evening, Dad—you’re just the one I want to see. I’ve got my car. Come down to the garage and——” Hugh brushed by his son without deigning to reply. Howard pursed his lips in a long whistle. “Gee whiz, mother—what’s eating Dad?” he asked, as he gently pushed open his mother’s door. “Have you been telling him tales about me?” “No, dear, I haven’t mentioned you.” The mother’s reply was listless. “Well, what’s wrong with him—he didn’t even answer me, and almost threw me off my feet! I was going to ask him—” He stopped short at a sudden idea. “I say, mother,” he urged, “what’s the matter with you doing it? Come on downstairs with me for a few moments—I want to show you something.” “I am very tired and nervous, dear,” Marjorie replied wearily. “Can’t you explain what it is without my having to go downstairs?”