sque_ the affair. All he wanted to ask dad to-night was that he
should agree to consider the matter, bearing in mind that a real artist
like _madame_, his wife, couldn't be kept shut up in a brass tower
indefinitely.

"Dad cut him off rather short on that. He said that from a legal or
business point of view, which was all that could possibly concern
LaChaise, his consent wasn't necessary. If his wife signed a contract he
would put no obstacles in the way of her fulfilling it. Beyond that he
had obviously nothing to say.

"Well, that was about all. They both put on all the trimmings saying good
night to each other and LaChaise thanked me very handsomely for
interpreting. I chucked him into his overcoat and let him out the front
door.--And bolted it after him, you bet! Lord, but I hated to go back to
dad after that.

"I needn't have worried though. When we sat down for our smoke in the
library, it was exactly as if nothing had happened. I'd have been tearing
my hair but old dad.... He certainly is a peach."

Rush paused there for some comment from her and when she made none,
looked around at her. Her hands were lightly clasped across her breast,
her eyelids nearly closed. Save for her barely perceptible breathing, she
lay dead still.

"Have I talked you to sleep?" he asked.

"No," she said, "I was thinking what a mixed-up thing life is. The way
you can't help liking and admiring the people you wish you could hate and
hating and hurting the ones you love." Then her eyes came open with a
smile and she held out a hand toward him. "You don't have to answer that.
It's the sort of silly thing people say when they have been drinking gin.
What I was really wondering was whether there will be anything about Mr.
March's opera in that contract Paula signs with LaChaise?"

This startled him. "I never thought of that," he answered. "Do you
suppose that's it? Oh, it can't be! She wouldn't chuck dad for that
doughboy piano tuner. Not Paula!"

"Oh, no," said Mary. "She wouldn't do that. It wouldn't look to her like
that, anyhow. She's got enough, don't you see, for everybody; for dad
and--and the doughboy as well. Father wouldn't have any less, if he could
just make up his mind that he didn't have to have it all. And as for the
other, why, it might be the greatest thing that could possibly happen to
him;--being in love with Paula and writing operas for her and having her
sing them the way she sang those songs to-night. I suppose