"that any love worthy of the name will
always appraise the cost--to the woman. It is of Patricia I am
thinking."

"She loves me," Charteris murmured. He glanced up and laughed. "Upon my
soul, you know, I cannot help thinking the situation a bit
farcical--you and I talking over matters in this fashion. But I honestly
believe the one chance of happiness for any of us hinges on Patricia and
me chucking the whole affair, and bolting."

"No! it won't do--no, hang it, Jack, it will not do!" Musgrave glanced
toward the bath-house, and he lifted his voice. "I am not considering
you in the least--and under the circumstances, you could hardly expect
me to. It is of Patricia I am thinking. I haven't made her altogether
happy. Our marriage was a mating of incongruities--and possibly you are
justified in calling it a mistake. Yet, day in and day out, I think we
get along as well together as do most couples; and it is wasting time to
cry over spilt milk. Instead, it rests with us, the two men who love
her, to decide what is best for Patricia. It is she and only she we must
consider."

"Ah, you are right!" said Charteris, and his eyes grew tender. "She must
have what she most desires; and all must be sacrificed to that." He
turned and spoke as simply as a child. "Of course, you know, I shall be
giving up a great deal for love of her, but--I am willing."

Musgrave looked at him for a moment. "H'm doubtless," he assented. "Why,
then, we won't consider the others. We will not consider your wife,
who--who worships you. We won't consider the boy. I, for my part, think
it is a mother's duty to leave an unsullied name to her child, but,
probably, my ideas are bourgeois. We won't consider Patricia's
relatives, who, perhaps, will find it rather unpleasant. In short, we
must consider no one save Patricia."

"Of course, one cannot make an omelet without breaking a few eggs."

"No; the question is whether it is absolutely necessary to make the
omelet. I say no."

"And I," quoth Charteris smiling gently, "say yes."

"For Patricia," Musgrave went on, as in meditation, but speaking very
clearly, "it means giving up--everything. It means giving up her friends
and the life to which she is accustomed; it means being ashamed to face
those who were formerly her friends. We, the world, our world of
Lichfield, I mean--are lax enough as to the divorce question, heaven
knows, but we can't pardon immorality when coupled with poverty. And you
would