Never
supposed for a minute you thought otherwise--that poor girl there, dazed
with fright, backed as far away from him as she could get, hair flying,
eyes wild."

I looked from one to the other. What Edwards had said of the cold,
contemptuous old man; what Vandeman told of the screaming girl; no
answer to such a proposition of course but an attempted frame-up. To let
the bridegroom get by would best serve my purpose.

"All right, gentlemen," I said. "And now could you tell me what action
you took, on this state of affairs?"

"Action?" Vandeman gave me an uneasy look. "What was there to do? Told
you I thought the man was crazy."

"And you, Edwards?"

"Let it go as Bronse says. I cut back to Mrs. Thornhill's, scouting to
see what the chance was for getting Ina in without the family knowing
anything."

"That's right," Vandeman said. "I stayed to fetch her. She was fine. To
the last, she let Gilbert save his face--actually send her home as
though she were the one to blame. Right then I knew I loved her--wanted
her for my wife. On the way home, I asked her and was accepted."

"In spite of the fact that she was engaged to Worth Gilbert?"

"Boyne," he said impatiently, "what's the matter with you? Haven't I
made you understand what happened there at the study? She had to break
off with the son of a man like that. Ina Thornhill couldn't marry into
such a breed."

"Slow up, Vandeman!" Edwards' tone was soft, but when I looked at him, I
saw a tawny spark in his black eyes. Vandeman fronted him with the
flamboyant embroidered monogram on his shirt sleeve, the carefully
careless tie, the utterly good clothes, and, most of all, at the moment,
the smug satisfaction in his face of social and human security. I
thought of what that Frenchman says about there being nothing so
enjoyable to us as the troubles of our friends. "Needn't think you can
put it all over the boy when he's not here to defend himself--jump on
him because he's down! Tell that your wife discarded him--cast him
off--for disgraceful reasons! Damnitall! You and I both heard Tom giving
her her orders to break with his son, she sniffling and hunting hairpins
over the floor and promising that she would."

"Cut it out!" yelled Vandeman, as though some one had pinched him. "I
saw nothing of the sort. I heard nothing of the sort. Neither did you."

I think they had forgotten me, and that they remembered at about the
same instant that they were talking before a