“Perhaps.”  I remained silent.  She worked at her embroidery frame for a moment as though to attune herself to my mood and then: 

“Briar Hills can’t hope for a visit which hasn’t an ulterior purpose.  What is it?”

As usual she wasted no words and smiled benignly, a comfortable motherly smile at once quizzical and forgiving.

“I did want to see you,” I put in awkwardly.  “It has been a long time—­”

“I’ll spare you the necessity for explanations.  You’re here to tell me that Jerry is drinking and to find out why.  Isn’t that so?”

I could only stare at her in wonder at her intuitions, and made some remark which she chose to disregard.

“As I predicted, the disease is passing,” she said quietly, “but it’s leaving Marcia first.  Three weeks ago Jerry was a god to Marcia.  Last week she showed signs of disenchantment.  This week she is plainly bored.”

“I guessed as much.  But why?”

She shrugged her shoulders expressively, but having gone so far I was not there to waste words.

“I know.  Her idol fell in Madison Square Garden, a bone-and-muscle idol, Miss Gore.”

She remained silent, examining her embroidery with a critical eye.

“You know that that is true,” I asserted.

“Idols are as easily made as shattered for Marcia.  She may adore him again next week.”

“I hope not.  It would be a pity.”

“I agree with you,” she said quietly.  “It would be a pity.”

I said nothing for a moment, watching her slim fingers weaving to and fro.

“I have just warned her,” I said.

The fingers moved slowly, then stopped and lowered the embroidery frame to her lap.  Her wide gaze was full upon me.

“You—­what?”

“I warned her.”

“Against what?”

“Against Jerry.”

She straightened and a sound came from her throat.

“You—­”

She gave a short laugh.  “You’ll pardon me, Mr. Canby, but I was on the point of calling you a fool.”

“I warned her,” I muttered.  “Jerry isn’t like other men.  She’s playing with fire.”

“And don’t you know that that is the very worst thing you could have done, for Jerry—­for her?”

“I hadn’t meant to do exactly that.  She angered me.”

“She would.  Her idea of existence isn’t yours.  And if you don’t mind my saying so, I think you’re wasting your time on the possible chance of making Jerry appear ridiculous to her, to us all.  Your guardianship is hardly flattering to his intelligence or his character.  You can’t help matters.  Whatever the crisis, it is bound to come, the sooner the better for Jerry and for her.  My good man, can’t you see?”

I had realized my futility already, and it was not pleasant to have it shown me through another’s eyes.  Nor did I relish her calling me her “good man,” but curiously enough when she had finished I made no reply.  And so I sat meekly, Miss Gore resuming her embroidery.