myself
in this."

"But, old man. I can't face it. It will kill Helen!"

Peter had already thrown aside the arm, and had taken a step towards the
doorway. He stopped and turned. "She does not know?"

"Not a suspicion. And nothing but absolute proof will make her believe
it. She worships me. Oh, Peter, save her! Save Leonore--if you won't
save me!"

"Can they be saved?"

"That's what I want to know. Here--sit down, please! I'll tell you all
about it."

Peter hesitated a moment, and then sat down.

"It began in Paris twelve years ago. Such affairs have a way of
beginning in Paris, old man. It's in the atmosphere. She--"

"Stop. I will ask questions. There's no good going over the whole
story." Peter tried to speak calmly, and to keep his voice and face from
showing what he felt. He paused a moment, and then said: "She threatens
to expose you. Why?"

"Well, after three years I tired of it and tried to end it. Then she
used it to blackmail me for ten years, till, in desperation, I came to
America, to see if I couldn't escape her."

"And she followed you?"

"Yes. She was always tracking me in Europe, and making my life a hell on
earth, and now she's followed me here."

"If it's merely a question of money, I don't see what you want of me."

"She says she doesn't want money now--but revenge. She's perfectly
furious over my coming off without telling her--always had an awful
temper--and--well, you know an infuriated woman is capable of anything.
The Spaniard was right who said it was easier to take care of a peck of
fleas than one woman, eh, chum?"

"So she threatens to tell your wife?"

"No. She says she's going to summon me into court."

"On what grounds?"

"That's the worst part of it. You see, chum, there's a child, and she
says she's going to apply for a proper support for it. Proper support!
Heavens! The money I've paid her would support ten children. It's only
temper."

Peter said, "Watts, Watts," in a sad voice.

"Pretty bad, isn't it? If it wasn't for the child I could--"

Peter interrupted. "Has she any proofs of paternity besides--?"

Watts interrupted in turn. "Yes. Confound it! I was fool enough to write
letters during my infatuation. Talleyrand was right when he said only
fools and women wrote letters."

"How could you?"

"That's what I've asked myself a hundred times. Oh, I'm sorry enough.
I've sworn never to put pen to paper again. _Jamais!_"

"I did not mean the letters. But your