Dane always, and you know New York and how it looks at such things. I
imagine you take it more seriously, here in America. It is serious, God
knows, and yet it may not amount to anything."

Margaret Gannion straightened up and spoke with a sudden assumption of
dignity which seemed to add inches to her moral and physical stature.

"To what are you referring, Mr. Thayer?"

"I beg your pardon. I thought you knew. I am talking about Lorimer."

"What about him?"

Man as he was, Thayer flinched under her keen eyes. All at once, he
realized that Margaret Gannion included among her friends Beatrix Dane,
and that it was Margaret Gannion's habit to fight for her friends.

"I had hoped you would understand without my putting it into so many
words. Lorimer has been my friend for years, and it seems rather beastly
to begin talking him over; but--"

"But?" Miss Gannion's tone was as hard and ringing as steel.

"But he sometimes takes a little more wine than is altogether wise,"
Thayer replied, with brief directness.

Miss Gannion dropped back in her chair.

"Does--does he get--drunk?" she questioned sharply.

"No. That is too strong a word. He is imprudent, foolish. Still, one
never knows what may come."

"Poor Beatrix!" Miss Gannion said softly.

Thayer faced her again.

"Understand me, Miss Gannion; I am not doing this for love of gossip.
Miss Dane is nothing to me, and I like Lorimer immensely. But there is
a good deal at stake, and I am not sure how much I ought to leave to
chance. Lorimer is one of the most lovable fellows in the world,
generous and loyal; but he is weak. He was born so; I fancy it is in the
blood. If Miss Dane is strong enough and has tact, perhaps she can hold
him steady. He can't be driven an inch; but he can be led a long way."

Miss Gannion brushed her hair away from her face with an odd, bewildered
gesture.

"Wait," she said breathlessly. "I love Beatrix, and it makes me slow to
take this in. How long has it been going on?"

Thayer's lips tightened.

"Ever since I have known him," he answered reluctantly.

"Much?"

"No, comparatively little."

"Often?"

"Well--" The lengthening of the word told its own story.

"Does it increase?"

His expression answered her, and she took the answer in perfect silence.
It was a full minute before she spoke again; but when she did speak, her
voice had the old, level intonation.

"Are you willing to tell me just how far the trouble has gone,