n the woman's: and, as Quita had once
said, he was privileged, simply by being what he was.

Having set glasses and spirit-decanter within reach of their two
chairs, he came over to Lenox, and set both hands on his shoulders.

"My dear fellow, it's no use shirking facts," he said straightly.
"You're only flesh and blood; and the strain of all this is just
knocking you to pieces again. No reflection on your wife. You know
what I mean?"

"Yes. I know very well what you mean." Lenox spoke with repressed
bitterness. "I once heard hell defined as disqualification in the face
of opportunity."

Desmond turned back to the table, and helped himself to a fresh cigar.
"Are you so dead certain about the disqualification?" he asked without
looking up: and he heard Lenox grind his teeth.

"Oh Lord, man, if you're going on that tack, I'm off."

"Indeed you're not. There's a deal more to be said. As far as I
understand matters, I imagine that your wife's coming here makes a
decided difference in regard to--ultimate possibilities?"

"Yes; that's just it. She has cut away the ground from under my feet
on all sides." He was thinking of his promise that afternoon, and his
voice lost its schooled hardness. "She's set on going through with
things, at any price. But then . . she doesn't realise . . ."

"Believe me, it wouldn't make the smallest difference if she did.
Women are made that way, to our eternal good fortune. Their capacity
for loving us in spite of what we are is a thing to go down on one's
knees for. You'll appreciate it, one of these days, if you haven't
done so already."

"Appreciate it? Great Scott, Desmond, haven't I ten times more cause
to do so than _you_ can ever have had? But that doesn't wipe out facts
or principles."

He left the hearth-rug, and paced the room in restless agitation.
Desmond sat down, lit his cigar, and waited. His own suggestion could
best be made if Lenox could be induced to unburden himself a little
first. Presently he sat on the edge of the writing-table, well out of
range of the lamp; stretched out his long legs, and folded his arms.

"By rights, I suppose I ought to have let her go back to Dalhousie at
once. She suggested it herself. But it seemed too brutal; and I
wasn't up to the wrench of letting her go just then. Besides, there
was your wife's illness. It would have been out of the question. And
now I'm in a bigger hole than before. We are living at cross pur