“Yes, over the telephone, drunk, as usual.”

“Did he make—­make any more threats, Jack?”

“The usual string.  Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” she said; “he hasn’t been home in a week, they tell me.  Jack, do you think it safe for you to drop in here for a few moments before dinner?”

“Just as you say.  If he comes in, there may be trouble.  Which isn’t a good idea, on your account.”

No woman in such circumstances is moved very much by an appeal to her caution.

“But I want to see you, Jack,” she said miserably.

“That seems to be the only instinct that governs you,” he retorted, slightly impatient.  “Can’t you ever learn the elements of prudence?  It seems to me about time that you substituted common sense for immature impulse in dealing with present problems.”

His voice was cold, emotionless, unpleasant.  She stood with the receiver at her ears, flushing to the tips of them under his rebuke.  She always did; she had known many, recently, but the quick pang of pain was never any less keen.  On the contrary.

“Don’t you want to see me?  I have been away for ten days.”

“Yes, I want to see you, of course, but I’m not anxious to spring a mine under myself—­under us both by going into your house at this time.”

“My brother has not been here in a week.”

“Does that accidental fact bar his possible appearance ten minutes from now?”

She wondered, vaguely, whether he was afraid of anything except possible damage to her reputation.  She had, lately, considered this question on several occasions.  Being no coward, as far as mere fear for her life was concerned, she found it difficult to attribute such fear to him.  Indeed, one of the traits in her which he found inexplicable and which he disliked was a curious fearlessness of death—­not uncommon among women who, all their lives, have had little to live for.

She said:  “If I am not worth a little risk, what is my value to you?”

“You talk like a baby,” he retorted.  “Is an interview worth risking a scandal that will spatter the whole town?”

“I never count such risks,” she said wearily.  “Do as you please.”

His voice became angry:  “Haven’t I enough to face already without hunting more trouble at present?  I supposed I could look to you for sympathy and aid and common sense, and every day you call me up and demand that I shall drop everything and fling caution to the winds, and meet you somewhere!  Every day of the year you do it——­”

“I have been away ten days—­” she faltered, turning sick and white at the words he was shouting through the telephone.

“Well, it was understood you’d stay for a month, wasn’t it?  Can’t you give me time to turn around?  Can’t you give me half a chance?  Do you realise what I’m facing? Do you?”

“Yes.  I’m sorry I called you; I was so miserable and lonely——­”