iii

Patricia conceived the situation. Blanche, consumed with that hot, wasting love which is concentrated upon the fear of loss, watched, trapped by a husband as unscrupulous as herself; Monty, at first passionate, as he had been with Patricia herself, and with more success, with his love tiring, bent upon extrication, also watched, trapped; herself, a spectator, half-guilty as the result of foolish recklessness, trapped here, but possessing the power of flight. She could escape, and would eventually do so; but there was no escape for Blanche. There was none, perhaps, for Monty. Ugly love, ugly renunciation, and a squalid sequel; and what then! No hope for Blanche! Nothing for that poor, haggard woman with the ugly elbows and the glittering wretched eyes of a dumb creature in pain. There was even no future for her. Patricia was appalled. And Monty's clumsy attempt—so grossly insensitive—to close the intrigue with money.... Why had he chosen this way? A quarrel there had been, a parting, some coarse-grained assumption and deliberate plan to make the parting "equitable" and final. He must have had some urgent reason. Herself? Monty gave a jeering laugh.

"Well, done, Fred," he said quietly. And then, after a pause: "And where's his evidence? He's bluffing, Blanche."

"You say that...." Blanche contemptuously answered. "He's not bluffing, Monty. He's got an object. I know. And it isn't money. It's the little girl."

"But, good God, what's that to do with me?" demanded Monty. "Or, for that matter, with you? Nothing. Nothing whatever. Any little girl, at Fred's age, isn't going to be particularly squeamish about marriage. You've only to look at Fred, too. She must be out for what she can get. Oh, no, it's absurd. Take it from me, Blanche, he's bluffing!"

While Patricia, more impressed than ever, was filled with consternation at this inside glimpse of the working of Monty's mind, Blanche sighed. Perhaps it was no revelation to her? Were, then, all people at bottom coarse, cynical? Was she herself? Patricia recoiled from a question. Again she had the sense of comparing those anxious, ghastly eyes to the eyes of a monkey, which seem to hold all misery, and anxiously to survey a treacherous and sophisticated and bewildering world. So might her own eyes have looked if they had indeed, at this moment, mirrored her dread.

"You'll see," at last Blanche answered quietly, after a moment's pause.

Monty shrugged his shoulders. He was not so obstinate in his belief as his speech made him appear. Already he was searching in his memory for occasions, for details, for possible spies. An idea occurred to him.

"Jacobs?" he asked. "Impossible."

Blanche shook her head. Patricia, watching her, thought she was paler. The brilliant lips were hardly parted as she spoke.

"Nothing's impossible," answered Blanche, drawing her breath quickly.

Monty looked at her with sudden attention. Suspicion darted to his eyes.

"You?" he cried. "Not you, Blanche?" His face had crimsoned. Again Blanche slowly shook her head.

"Nothing's impossible," she repeated.