“Tether him.  You did once.  It’s up to you; it’s usually up to a woman when a man wanders untethered.  What one woman, or a dozen, can do with a man his wife can do in the same fashion!  What won him in the beginning always holds good until he thinks he has won you.  Then the average man flourishes his heels.  He is doing it.  What won him was not you alone, or love, alone; it was his uncertainty of both that fascinated him.  That’s what charms him in others; uncertainty.  Many men are that way.  It’s a sporting streak in us.  If you care for him now—­if you could ever care for him, take him as you took him first....  Do you want him again?”

She stood leaning against the door, looking down.  Much of her colour had died out.

“I don’t know,” she said.

“I do.”

“Well—­do I?”

“Yes.”

“You think so?  Why?”

“Because he’s adrift, too.  And he’s rather weak, rather handsome, easily influenced—­unjust, selfish, vain, wayward—­just the average husband.  And every wife ought to be able to manage these lords of creation, and keep them out of harm....  And keep them in love, Rosalie.  And the way to do it is the way you did it first....  Try it.”  He kissed her gaily, thinking he owed that much to himself.

And through the door which had swung gently ajar, Geraldine Seagrave saw them, and Rosalie saw her.

For a moment the girl halted, pale and rigid, and her heart seemed to cease its beating; then, as she passed with averted head, Rosalie caught Duane’s wrists in her jewelled grasp and released herself with a wrench.

“You’ve given me enough to think over,” she said.  “If you want me to love you, stay—­and close that door—­and we’ll see what happens.  If you don’t—­you had better go at once, Duane.  And leave my door open—­to see what else fate will send me.”  She clasped her hands behind her back, laughing nervously.

“It’s like the old child’s game—­’open your mouth and close your eyes and see what God will send you?’—­usually something not at all resembling the awaited bonbon....  Good-bye, my altruistic friend—­and thank you for your XXth Century advice, and your Louis XVI assistance.”

“Good-bye,” he returned smilingly, and sauntered back toward his room where his own untried finery awaited him.

Ahead, far down the corridor, he caught sight of Geraldine, and called to her, but perhaps she did not hear him for he had to put on considerable speed to overtake her.

“In these last few days,” he said laughingly, “I seldom catch a glimpse of you except when you are vanishing into doorways or down corridors.”

She said nothing, did not even turn her head or halt; and, keeping pace with her, he chatted on amiably about nothing in particular until she stopped abruptly and looked at him.

“I am in a hurry.  What is it you want, Duane?”

“Why—­nothing,” he said in surprise.