“He has not dragged her down, Mr. O’Day.  Of that you may be sure.  A woman of her class doesn’t go to pieces in a year.  When she reaches the end of her means she will either seek work or she will go to one of the institutions to wait until she can hear from her people at home.  I have known—­”

Felix shook his head with an impatient movement.  “You don’t know her,” he exclaimed excitedly, “nor do you know her family.  Her father has shut his door against her, and would step across her body if he found it on the sidewalk rather than recognize her.  Nor would she ask him for a penny, nor let him or me or any one else know of her misery.”

Again the priest sat silent.  He did not attempt to defend his theory—­some better way of calming his visitor must be found.  He merely said, as if entirely convinced by O’Day’s denial:  “Oh, well, we will let that go, perhaps you know best”; and then added, his voice softening, “and now one word more, before we go into the details of our search, so that no complications may arise in the future.  You, of course, are hunting for Lady Barbara to reinstate her as your wife if—­”

O’Day sprang from his chair and stood over the priest.  The suggestion had come as a blow.

“I will take her back!”

The priest looked up in astonishment.  “Yes, is it not so?”

The answer came between closed teeth.  “I did not expect that of you, Father Cruse, I thought you were bigger—­much bigger.  Can’t you understand how a man may want to stand by a woman for herself alone without dragging in his own selfishness and—­ No, I forgot—­you cannot understand—­you never held a woman in your arms—­you do not realize her many weaknesses, her childishness, her whims, her helplessness.  But take her back?  Never!  That chapter in my life is dosed.  My hunt for her all these months has been to save her from herself and from the scoundrel who has ruined her.  When that is done I shall pick up my life as best I can, but not with her.”

For some seconds the priest did not speak.  Then he said gently, again avoiding any disagreement.  “Let us hope that so happy an ending to all your sufferings is not far off, my dear Mr. O’Day.  And now another question before we part for the night, one I perhaps ought to have asked you before.  Are you quite positive that Kitty’s visitor was your wife?”

He had reserved this hopeful suggestion—­one he himself believed in—­for the last.  It would help lift the dead weight of bitter anxiety which was sure to overwhelm his visitor in the wakeful hours of the night.

Felix moved impatiently, like one combating a physician’s cheering words.  “It must have been she, who else could have dropped the sleeve-link?”

“Several people.  Excuse me if I talk along different lines, but I have had a good deal of experience in tracing out just such things as this, and I have always found it safest to be sure of my facts before deducing theories.  It is not all clear to me that Kitty’s woman dropped the links.  And even if she did, the fact is no proof that the woman is your wife.”