“All right, I will.  I’m not ashamed.  I’ve given you this ‘tirade’ to show you exactly how I feel—­that it’s not any question of sin or guilt or any musty old rubbish like that!  I know I’m right!  I know just what I’m doing!”

“Who’s the man?  That Italian?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“Right here in New York.”

“Does he mean to stand by you?”

“Of course he does.”

“Will he marry you, Laura?”

“Yes, he will—­the minute I’m free from my beast of a husband!”

“And your husband will keep his suit quiet, you said, if you agree not to fight him.”

“Yes.”

Deborah rose abruptly.

“Then will you stay right here to-night, and leave this matter to me?” she asked.

“What do you mean to do?”

“See your husband.”

“What for?  When?”

“To-night, if I can.  I want to be sure.”

Laura looked for the moment nonplussed.

“And what of my wishes?” she inquired.

“Your wishes,” said Deborah steadily.  “You want a divorce, don’t you—­so do I. And you want it quiet—­and so do I. I want it so hard that I want to make sure.”  Deborah’s tone was kinder now, and she came over close to her sister.  “Look here, Laura, if I’ve been hard, forgive me—­please—­and let me help.  I’m not so narrow as you think.  I’ve been through a good deal of this before—­downtown, I mean, with girls in my school.  They come to me, we have long talks.  Maybe I am a nun—­as you say—­but I’m one with a confessional.  Not for sins,” she added, as Laura looked up angrily.  “Sins don’t interest me very much.  But troubles do.  And heaven knows that marriage is one,” she said with a curious bitterness.  “And when it has failed and there’s no love left—­as in your case—­I’m for divorce.  Only—­” her wide sensitive lips quivered just a little, “I’m sorry it had to come like this.  But I love you, dear, and I want to help, I want to see you safely through.  And while I’m doing it, if we can, I want to keep dad out of it—­at least until it’s settled.”  She paused a moment.  “So if you agree, I’ll go to your husband.  I want to be sure, absolutely, just what we can count on.  And until I come back, stay here in my room.  You don’t want to talk to father and Edith—­”

“Most certainly not!” Laura muttered.

“Good.  Then stay here until I return.  I’ll send you up some supper.”

“I don’t want any, thank you.”

Laura went and threw herself on the bed, while her sister finished dressing.

“It’s decent of you, Deborah.”  Her voice was muffled and relaxed.  “I wasn’t fair,” she added.  “I’m sorry for some of the things I said.”

“About me and marriage?” Deborah looked at herself in the glass in a peculiar searching way.  A slight spasm crossed her features.  “I’m not sure but that you were right.  At times I feel far from certain,” she said.  Laura lifted her head from the pillow, watched her sister a moment, dropped back.