She had consented to this dictagraphic inspection of her husband's intrigue merely to confirm or refute gossip. She had had more than evidence enough to satisfy her. Her first reaction to it was a primitive lust for revenge. Once or twice she blazed with such anger that she rose to tear the wire loose from the wall and end the torment. But her curiosity restrained her. She set the earpiece to her ear again. At length she formed her resolution to act. She called out, “Mr. Hodshon, come here!” He came in and found her a pillar of rage. “I've heard enough. I'll do what I refused before. I'll go with you and break in.” Hodshon was dazed. He was not ready to act. She had refused his plan to break in according to the classic standards. He had let the plan lapse and accepted Mrs. Cheever as a poor rich wretch whom he had contracted to provide with a certain form of morbid entertainment. He could do nothing now but stammer: “Well--well--is that so? Do you really? You know you didn't--O' course--Well, let's see now. You know we ain't prepared. I told you we had to have a c'rob'rating witness. It wouldn't be legal if we were to--Still, they probably would accept you as witness and us as corroboration, but you wouldn't want to go on the stand and tell what you found--not a nice refined lady like you are. The witness-stand is no place for a lady, anyway. “The thing is if you could get some gentleman friend to go with you and you two break in. Then you'd both be amateurs, kind of. You see? Do you know any gentleman who might be willing to do that for you? The best of friends get very shy when you suggest such a job. But if you know anybody who would be interested and wanted to help you--Do you?” Only two names came to Charity's searching mind--Jim Dyckman's impossible name and one that was so sublimely unfit that she laughed as she uttered it. “There's the Reverend Doctor Mosely.” Hodshon tried to laugh. “I was reading head-lines of a sermon of his. He's down on divorce.” “That's why he'd be the ideal witness,” said Charity. “But would he come?” “Of course not,” she laughed. “There's no use of carrying this further. I've had all I can stand to-night. Let me go.” As usual with people who have had all they can stand, Charity wanted some more. She glanced at the receiver, curious as to what winged words had flown unattended during her parley with Hodshon. She put the receiver to her ear and fell back. Again she was greeted with clamor. They were quarreling ferociously. That might mean either of two things: there are the quarrels that enemies maintain, and those that devoted lovers wage. The latter sort are perhaps the bitterer, the less polite. Charity could not learn what had started the wrangle between those two. Slowly it died away. Zada's cries turned to sobs, and her tirade to sobs. “You don't love me. Go back to her. You love her still.”