int.

"We must dress for dinner," said Steinmetz. "Afterward--well, afterward
we shall see."

"Yes," answered Paul. And he did not go.

The two men stood looking at each other for a moment. They had passed
through much together--danger, excitement, and now they were dabbling in
sorrow. It would appear that this same sorrow runs like a river across
the road of our life. Some of us find the ford and plash through the
shallows--shallow ourselves--while others flounder into deep water.
These are they who look right on to the greater events, and fail to note
the trivial details of each little step. Paul was wading through the
deep water, and this good friend of his was not inclined to stand upon
the bank. It is while passing through this river that Fortune sends some
of us a friend, who is ever afterward different from all others.

Paul stood looking down at the broad, heavy face of the man who loved
him like a father. It was not easy for him to speak. He seemed to be
making an effort.

"I do not want you to think," he said at last, "that it is as bad as it
might have been. It might have been worse--much worse--had I not made a
mistake in regard to my own feelings when I married her. I will try and
do the right thing by her. Only at present there does not seem to be
much left, except you."

Steinmetz looked up with his quaintly resigned smile.

"Ah, yes," he said, "I am there always."

CHAPTER XXXIX

HUSBAND AND WIFE

Karl Steinmetz had shown the depth of his knowledge of men and women
when he commented on that power of facing danger with an unruffled
countenance which he was pleased to attribute to English ladies above
all women. During the evening he had full opportunity of verifying his
own observations.

Etta came down to dinner smiling and imperturbable. On the threshold of
the drawing-room she exchanged a glance with Karl Steinmetz; and that
was all. At dinner it was Maggie and Paul who were silent. Etta talked
to Steinmetz--brightly, gayly, with a certain courage of a very high
order; for she was desperate, and she did not show it.

At last the evening came to an end. Maggie had sung two songs. Steinmetz
had performed on the piano with a marvellous touch. All had played their
parts with the brazen faces which Steinmetz, in his knowledge of many
nations, assigned to the Anglo-Saxon race before others.

At last Etta rose to go to bed, with a little sharp sigh of great
suspense. It was coming.