"It will make my brother ridiculous--an old man's widow," she said. "It was bad enough when he married her, but he and I together managed to keep the marriage on a dignified plane. No one could have found anything to laugh at during his life; and now he is dead, after all his kindness and generosity to her, she shall not insult his memory." "But has she any idea of doing it?" asked Williams. "There is a pretty heavy weight on the other side of the scale." Miss Southgate clenched her hands. "I don't know," she said, as if that were extraordinary enough. "I can't read her mind. She says not, and yet she sees him every day." Williams shook his head. "She won't do it," he said, and fortunately Miss Southgate did not catch the note of regret in his voice. He promised to come and dine alone with the two women that evening. He found the little widow more alive than before, more prone to smile and talk, but no less docile in her attitude toward Antonia. There was nothing of the rebel about her, no hint that she was preparing to defy the lightning. And Williams admitted, as he saw the violence of Antonia's determination that the marriage should not take place, that a great deal of courage would be required. As he walked away from the house that evening he said to himself that if he were Hale he would kidnap her and take his chances of happiness. A day or so later, a jubilant though black-bordered note from Miss Southgate announced that the decision had been made. "Doris has promised me that she will not marry this man, or any other, without my consent. She is to see him this afternoon at four. I should like you to be with me then, in case he makes a scene at his final dismissal." Well, Williams said to himself, he was a lawyer; he had seen a good deal of life; he had always known that that was the way the thing would end. But how pitiful and how stupid! He thought of the ferryboat plying unnoticed from one bank of the Hudson to the other. Did Doris Helen suppose she would duplicate that afternoon for a million dollars? He went punctually at four, and was ushered into the back drawing-room. The terrible room across the front of the house was already occupied by the parting lovers, where presumably the portrait of Alexander Southgate was dominating their farewells. Antonia received him with a manner of calm triumph, unshadowed by the least doubt that her sister-in-law would keep her word. But after about an hour a silence fell upon her, and Williams became aware that she was listening with increasing eagerness for the sound of the opening of the front drawing-room door. At last she rose to her feet. "This is unbearable," she said. "An hour isn't so very long," he returned, "for two people who love each other to take an eternal good-by." "It's over two hours," said Antonia. "And she had nothing to say to him but no."