“Have you thought of the children, at all?” She grasped at the suggestion of the dreadful scandal this thing would be bound to create, knowing as she did, Hugh’s horror of anything of the sort. Parrot-like, Hugh Benton repeated the exact words of Geraldine DeLacy as she had expounded her philosophy of life to him, but had anyone told him that he was so swayed into unconscious repetition, he would have denied it with indignation. Hugh Benton was fond of declaring he was a man with a mind of his own. So, at the reference to his children, he turned and told her with calm dignity: “For once in my life I am thinking only of myself and my _own_ happiness, Marjorie. Up to now I have always considered others, but I can’t see that it has brought me very much.” “And yet I can remember you telling me,” she hastened to remind him, “that the only real happiness in life could be derived through helping others.” “If I said that, it must have been a great many years ago—before I became disillusioned.” The retort was bitter. Marjorie Benton rose and herself stooped to pick up the shredded handkerchief she had dropped. There was a hauteur in her manner that conveyed her belief that humiliation had gone far enough. She must put an end to the scene before her tautened nerves snapped and she became a driveling suppliant at the feet of the husband who was so cruelly telling her he had done with her—that he loved another. “Don’t you think we’ve said enough for one evening, Hugh?” she queried. “We don’t appear to be getting anywhere, as you put it, and—and I might as well tell you,” and the emphasis of her utterance left no room for doubt, “I will never consent to a divorce! Treat me as you please—do anything you please—I shall always remain Mrs. Hugh Benton!” She started to brush by him, but he caught roughly at her arm as she swept by. She stopped, startled at the fury in his face. “But that is so thoroughly unreasonable,” he urged querulously. “You haven’t cared for me in years. You want to hold me now, just because someone else has come into my life.” “Suppose I were to tell you that I _do_ care for you. What then?” she asked slowly, contemplatively. “I shouldn’t believe you! Oh, Marjorie, please listen to me. Doesn’t it seem foolish to wreck both of our lives? I intend being more than fair with you. I will settle three-quarters of my fortune upon you.” Marjorie’s lips curved in a slow smile. “And what does Mrs. DeLacy say to that?” was her query. “Why we haven’t even discussed such a thing.” “Well, then, go to her,” she commanded, “tell her exactly just what you propose doing, and see if the fervor of her devotion remains the same.” “And if it does—what then?” “I will be reasonable enough to acknowledge that I have misjudged that—er—Mrs. DeLacy.” “And what will you do?” he asked eagerly. She faced him proudly: “I will still remain—Mrs. Hugh Benton.”