In the quarrels of lovers, or of those who have exchanged loves, it makes little difference what the accusation is all about: the thing that hurts is the fact of accusation. Charity was so shamed at being stormed at by her husband that it was a mere detail that he stormed at her with a charge that she had goaded Jim Dyckman on to attack him. Cheever had a favor to ask; so he put the charge more mildly now than he had in his first bewildered rage. He accepted Charity's silence as pleading guilty. So he went on: “The fact that you chose Dyckman for your authorized thug and bravo proves what I have thought for some time, that you love him and he loves you. Now I have no desire to come between two such turtle-doves, especially when one of them is one of those German flying-machine _Taubes_ and goes around dropping dynamite-bombs on me through club roofs. “I'm not afraid of your little friend, and as soon as I get well I'll get him; but I want it to be purely an exercise in the fistic art, and not a public fluttering of family linen. So since you want Jim Dyckman, take him, by all means, and let me bow myself out of the trio. “I'll give you a nice, quiet little divorce, and do the fair thing in the alimony line, and then after a proper interval you and little Jimmie can toddle over to the parson and then toddle off to hell-and-gone, for all I care. How does that strike you, my dear?” Charity pondered, and then she said, “And where do you toddle off to?” “Does that interest you?” “Anything that concerns your welfare interests me.” “I see. Well, don't worry about me.” “There's no hurry, of course?” “Not on my part,” said Cheever. “But Dyckman must be growing impatient, since he tries to murder me to save the lawyer's fees.” “Well, if you're in no hurry, Peter, I'm not. I'll think it over for a few months. It's bad weather for divorces now, anyway.” Cheever's heart churned in his breast. He knew that Zada could not afford to wait. He should have married her long ago, and there was no time to spare now. Charity's indifference frightened him. He did not dream that through the dictagraph Charity had shared with him Zada's annunciation of her approaching motherhood. He turned and twisted in flesh and spirit, trying to persuade Charity to proceed immediately for a divorce, but in vain. Finally she ceased to laugh at him and demanded, sternly, “Why don't you tell me the truth for once?” He stared at her, and after a crisis of hesitation broke and informed her of what she already knew. Now that he was at her feet, Charity felt only pity for him, and even for Zada. She was sorrier for them than for herself. So she said: “All right, old man; let's divorce us. Will you or shall I?” “You'd better, of course; but you must not mention poor Zada.” “Oh, of course not!” A brief and friendly discussion of ways and means followed, and then Charity turned to go, saying: