"No; for a time--until Harry got on his feet."

"He'll never get on his feet unaided. Instead he'll get more and more wobbly all the time. The past proves the future. He's proved it."

"You're simply horrid." There were real tears in the girl's eyes now, not a mere premonition. "I'm sorry I ever told you anything about them."

"I know I'm horrid, grant it. A friend I once had told me I was a fish,--cold-blooded like one. Nature made me that way, you see, so I can't help it. And still I'm inclined to believe if Mrs. Randall had chanced to select any other lawyer in town there'd be a real separation, instead of one in prospect, right now."

Elice Gleason looked up penitently.

"I'm sorry," she said simply. "I didn't mean that."

"I don't doubt it," equally simply.

"You're so blunt and logical though; so--abstract."

"Yes; I am that way."

The girl drew a long breath. Seemingly, after all, the victory was hers.

"Well, what are we going to do about it? We, their friends, have to do something."

"Yes, that's the question--what?"

"Margery will never go back now of herself. I know her."

"No; she'll never go back of herself, never. Do you blame her?"

No answer. The query was sudden.

"Honest, do you blame her?" insistently.

"I thought I did. I don't know--I don't know."

"Does 'love, honor, and obey' mean 'wash, bake, and scrub' to a girl who has never in her life before done any of the three?"

Still silence.

"Would you, if you were in her place, come back--would you?"

"I?" It was almost a gasp. "I'm not like Margery. I've counted pennies all my life." A sudden flame. "But why do you bring me in?"

"Why? That's true. I had no right. I apologize. To come back to Mrs.

Randall. Do you still blame her?"

"No, I don't believe I do. I ought to, I feel that; but I don't. It's tangled, tangled!"

"Yes. It's the first symptom of divorce."

The girl flashed him a sudden look.

"And you hate divorce. You just said so."

"From the bottom of my soul. I meant it."

Miss Gleason flashed a second look. Suddenly, unaccountably, she held the reins.

"What's to be done then? Margery is as she is, we both know that; and--and Harry loves her, we both know that, too. What do you suggest?"

"I?" Roberts smiled, his slow smile. "I'm her lawyer and--abstract.

Besides, her father is wealthy. There'd be a fat fee if she returned to him."

"You forget that I apologized."

"That's right. I'm always forgetting." Apparently he did not remember even yet.

"You've neglected to answer my question," impatiently. "I repeat: what are you going to do about it?"

"I asked your solution first. Do you give it up?"

"Yes," with a little gesture; "I give it up."

Darley Roberts smiled; a contagious, convincing smile.

"Very well, I'll try then," he said. "I shan't promise anything. I'll simply try."

"Try how?"

Again Roberts smiled; but through whimsically narrowed lids now.

"I'm not sure of the details yet myself. I merely have an idea. There's an old adage concerning Mahomet and the mountain, you know."

"And in this case Margery represents the mountain?"

"Yes."

Unconsciously the girl's color heightened.

"You really fancy," swiftly, "that Harry can be stirred up enough, can be made practical enough--you forget you said a moment ago that he would never advance financially."

"No. The adage will have to be adjusted a bit to meet the requirements.

He'll have to be carried there."

Elice Gleason drew a quick little breath of understanding and something more.

"If you'll do this for one almost a stranger, one wonders what you would do for a friend," she said; "one--wonders."

For an instant the man said nothing; abruptly, dismissing the subject, he arose.