“This is good of you,” Hugh Benton sighed pleasurably. “On the contrary,” she smiled, arranging her chair opposite him just where one of the lamps would shine softly upon her, “it is good of you to come here and keep me company.” “Mrs. DeLacy,” he began earnestly, “I want to apologize to you again for Mrs. Benton’s conduct yesterday afternoon. I thought perhaps I could succeed in persuading her to write you a note or——” “Please, Mr. Benton, don’t refer to it again—I assure you I——” “Surely, it must have hurt you deeply.” “Yes,” she answered, her lips quivering. “I was dreadfully hurt. You know how absolutely innocent I was and how undeserved the unkind things she said to me. I wouldn’t intentionally harm anyone for the world.” “You have no need to tell me that,” he assured her. “Your gentle forbearance has been magnificent—please believe me when I say—I am deeply grateful.” “Don’t you think that forgiveness is best?” she asked him, ruminatively. “To me there are always extenuating circumstances. I have been thinking it over and perhaps Mrs. Benton——” “There was no excuse in the world for Mrs. Benton’s conduct,” the man exclaimed decisively. He shook his head sadly. “This is not the first time I have feared my wife is losing her mind.” “I forbid you to mention this affair again,” she scolded gently. “We will consider it a closed chapter.” “Very well, it shall be as you desire,” he agreed, “and now I shall sit here and listen while you tell me a great many things I am anxious to know.” “Insignificant me—to tell you things,” she laughed, “how absurd. However, I’ll do my best. Just what is it you are so anxious to know?” Hugh had his queries ready. “First of all,” he asked, “what would you consider the most important thing in a man’s life. Take your time in answering—that’s important, too.” The woman appeared to ponder deeply. “I have it!” she announced spiritedly. “The most important thing in a man’s life is—his loyalty.” “His loyalty?—To whom?” He was a bit perplexed. “To himself, of course!” Then she went on eagerly as she leaned toward her guest. “So that he may meet the eternal problem of life squarely—to realize once and for all that his life is his own—to do with as he pleases.” “But what about others? Shouldn’t we consider them?” “No,” she answered resolutely. “There was a time in my life when duty figured above all else, but with the passing years, I have been forced to acknowledge the futility of it all. We sacrifice our youth, our ambitions, our desires—everything on the altar of duty, and in the end try to console ourselves with the memories of what might have been. It doesn’t pay, I tell you. Life at its best holds so little for us—the heartaches outweigh the joys—ten to one. And do you know,” she hurried on, as she saw how deeply her words were sinking in as seed in a soil all too well prepared for them, “do you know how the ones we sacrifice everything for really feel toward us?”