, and I hear that a couple of friends
of mine, of the firm of Simpson, Aspinwall & McCarter, are going to
offer him a partnership. It's a big firm, particularly in the political
world." There was a short silence. "Shall I let him have it, Lydia?"

She raised her shoulders scornfully.

"Could you stop his getting it, Stephen?"

"Do you doubt it?"

She turned on him. Her jaw was set and lifted as in the old days.

"Of course I do! If you could have you certainly would have without
consulting me. There is a man who you know lacks all integrity and
honor, and who, moreover, goes about saying that you tried to bribe
him--and failed. Oh, he makes a great point of that--you failed! Would
you let a man like that go into a firm of your friends if you could stop
it? No, no! Not unless you have grown a good deal meeker than I remember
you, Stephen."

Albee made a sweeping gesture, as expressive as a Roman emperor's thumbs
down.

"He shall not have it," and he added with a smile as cruel as Lydia's
own: "He believes himself absolutely sure of it."

She smiled straight into his eyes.

"Bring me that Friday night," she said. "It's more important than the
pardon."

He opened the door for her and she went out.

This was Wednesday. She could hardly wait for Friday to come. This was
the right way--to destroy the man first and then to forget him. She had
been silly and sentimental and weak to fancy that she could have real
peace in any other way, to imagine that she could go through life
skulking, fearing. She was furious at herself when she remembered that
she had asked Eleanor to avoid mentioning his name. She could mention
his name now herself, and see him too. She would enjoy seeing him. She
was hardly aware of the passage of time on her journey back to New York.
She was living over a meeting between O'Bannon and herself after the
partnership had been withdrawn. He must be made aware that it was her
doing.

She reached home just before dinner, and found that Miss Bennett was
dining out. Good! Lydia had no objection to being alone. But Benny had
arranged otherwise. She had telephoned to Eleanor, and she was coming to
dine. Lydia smiled. That was pleasant too.

Eleanor was an intelligent woman but not a mind reader. She saw some
change had taken place in Lydia, noticed that she ate no dinner, and
came to the conclusion that something had gone wrong about Evans'
pardon; that Albee had been, as usual, a weak friend. When