He left behind him one person at least who had thoroughly enjoyed his triumph. To do her justice, however, Mrs. Farron was ashamed of her sympathy, and she said gently to Mrs. Wayne: “You think this marriage a very bad thing.” Mrs. Wayne pushed all her hair away from her temples. “Oh, yes,” she said, “it’s a bad thing for the girl; but the worst is having Marty Burke put anything over. The district is absolutely under his thumb. I do wish, Mrs. Farron, you would get your husband to put the fear of God into him.” “My husband?” “Yes; he works for your husband. He has charge of the loading and unloading of the trucks. He’s proud of his job, and it gives him power over the laborers. He wouldn’t want to lose his place. If your husband would send for him and say--” Mrs. Wayne hastily outlined the things Mr. Farron might say. “He works for Vincent,” Adelaide repeated. It seemed to her an absolutely stupendous coincidence, and her imagination pictured the clash between them--the effort of Vincent to put the fear of God into this man. Would he be able to? Which one would win? Never before had she doubted the superior power of her husband; now she did. “I think it would be hard to put the fear of God into that young man,” she said aloud. “I do wish Mr. Farron would try.” “Try,” thought Adelaide, “and fail?” Could she stand that? Was her whole relation to Vincent about to be put to the test? What weapons had he against Marty Burke? And if he had none, how stripped he would appear in her eyes! “Won’t you ask him, Mrs. Farron?” Adelaide recoiled. She did not want to be the one to throw her glove among the lions. “I don’t think I understand well enough what it is you want. Why don’t you ask him yourself?” She hesitated, knowing that no opportunity for this would offer unless she herself arranged it. “Why don’t you come and dine with us to-night, and,” she added more slowly, “bring your son?” She had made the bait very attractive, and Mrs. Wayne did not refuse. CHAPTER VI As she drove home, Adelaide’s whole being was stirred by the prospect of that conflict between Burke and her husband, and it was not until she saw Mathilde, pale with an hour of waiting, that she recalled the real object of her recent visit. Not, of course, that Adelaide was more interested in Marty Burke than in her daughter’s future, but a titanic struggle fired her imagination more than a pitiful little romance. She felt a pang of self-reproach when she saw that Mr. Lanley had come to share the child’s vigil, that he seemed to be suffering under an anxiety almost as keen as Mathilde’s. They did not have to question her; she threw out her hands, casting her muff from her as she did so. “Oh,” she said, “I’m a weak, soft-hearted creature! I’ve asked them both to dine tonight.” Mathilde flung herself into her mother’s arms. “O Mama, how marvelous you are!” she exclaimed.