“Pshaw . . . it’s a mere bargain.” Hal was silent. She had rested her chin on her hands, and was now gazing steadily at the embers. “Of course if he is not a gentleman, you will have to leave off seeing so much of her.” “Not at all. She would need me all the more.” “That is quite possible,” drily; “but you owe something to yourself and me.” “I couldn’t owe failing a friend to any one. But he is a gentleman almost—a self-made one, and he doesn’t let you forget it.” “Then you’ve seen him?” “Yes, today.” Her lips suddenly twitched with irresistible humour. “He called me ‘Hal’ and Lorraine ‘wifey.’ We bore it bravely.” “What business had he to call you by your Christian name?” “None. I suppose he just felt like it. He also alluded to my new hat as a bonnet. Also he used to be an office-boy or something. He seemed inordinately proud of it.” “I loathe a self-made man who is always cramming it down one’s throat. I don’t see how you can have much in common with either of them any more.” Hal got up, as if she did not want to pursue the subject. “It won’t make the smallest difference to Lorraine and me,” she said. Dudley knit his forehead in vexation and perplexity, remarking: “Of course you mean to be obstinate about it.” “No,” with a little laugh; “only firm.” She came round to his chair and leant over the back it. “Dear old long-face, don’t look so worried. None of the dreadful things have happened yet that you expected to come of my friendship with Lorraine. The nearest approach to them was the celebrated young author I interviewed, who asked me to go to Paris with him for a fortnight, and he was a clergyman’s son who hadn’t even heard of Lorraine. Next, I think, was the old gentleman who offered to take me to the White City. I don’t seem much the worse for either encounter, do I? and it’s silly to meet trouble halfway.” She bent her head and kissed him on the forehead. “Dudley,” she finished mischievously, “what are you going to give Lorraine for a wedding-present?” “I might buy her the book, ‘How to be Happy though Married,’” he said dilly, “or write her a new one and call it ‘Words of Warning for Wifey.’” “We’ll give her something together,” Hal exclaimed triumphantly, knowing that, as usual, she had won the day. Then she went off to bed, feigning a light-heartedness she was far from feeling, and dreading, with vague misgivings, what the future might bring forth. CHAPTER V It was a little over two years later that the crash came. There was first a commonplace, sordid tale of bickering and quarrelling, with passionate jealousy on the part of the middle-aged husband, and callous, maddening indifference on the part of the now successful and brilliant actress.