“George,” said Warren suddenly, when he had asked for Alice and the children, and an awkward silence had made itself felt; “George, I’m in trouble.  I—­I wonder if you can help me out?”

He could hardly have made a more fortunate beginning; halting as the words were, and miserable as was the look that accompanied them, both rang true to the older man, and went straight to his heart.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” George said.

Warren folded his arms, and regarded his friend steadily across them.

“You know Rachael has left me, George?” he began.

“I—­well, yes, Alice went down there first, and then I went down,” George said.  “We only came back ten days ago.”  There was another brief silence.

“She—­she hasn’t any cause for this, you know, George,” Warren said, ending it, after watching the other man hopefully for further suggestion.

“Hasn’t, huh?” George asked thoughtfully, hopefully.

“No, she hasn’t!” Warren reiterated, gaining confidence.  “I’ve been a fool, I admit that, but Rachael has no cause to go off at half-cock, this way!”

“What d’you mean by that?” George asked flatly.  “What do you mean--you’ve been a fool?”

“I’ve been a fool about Magsie Clay,” Warren admitted, “and Rachael learned about it, that’s all.  My Lord! there never was an instant in my life when I took it seriously, I give you my word, George!”

“Well, if Rachael takes it seriously, and Magsie takes it seriously, you may find yourself beginning to take it seriously, too,” George said with a dull man’s simple evasion of confusing elements.

“Rachael may get her divorce,” Warren said desperately.  “I can’t help that, I suppose.  I’ve got a letter from her here—­she left it.  I don’t know what she thinks!  But I’ll never marry Margaret Clay—­that much is settled.  I’ll leave town—­my work’s ended, I might as well be dead.  God knows I wish I were!”

“Just how far have you gone with Magsie?” George interrupted quietly.

“Why, nothing at all!” Warren said.  “Flowers, handbags, things like that!  I’ve kissed her, but I swear Rachael never gave me any reason to think she’d mind that.”

“How often have you seen her?” George asked in a somewhat relieved tone.  “Have you seen her once a week?”

“Oh, yes!  I say frankly that this was a—­a flirtation, George.  I’ve seen her pretty nearly every day—–­”

“But she hasn’t got any letters—­nothing like that?”

Warren’s confident expression changed.

“Well, yes, she has some letters.  I—­damn it!  I am a fool, George!  I swear I wrote them just as I might to anybody.  I—­I knew it mattered to her, you know, and that she looked for them.  I don’t know how they’d read!”

George was silent, scowling, and Warren said, “Damn it!” again nervously, before the other man said: 

“What do you think she will do?”

“I don’t know, George,” Warren said honestly.