issed the idea as improbable;
still the bare chance worried him. Selma was to arrive early the next
morning, and he had reconciled himself to the conclusion that she need
never know, and that he would henceforth be a faithful husband. Had he
not given an earnest of his good faith in his reception of his visitor?
Surely, no such untoward and unnatural accident would dash the cup of
returning happiness from his lips. A more clever man would have gone
straight to police headquarters, instead of trusting to chance.

A night's rest reassured him as to the idleness of the threat, so that
he was able to welcome Selma at the railroad station with a
comparatively light heart. She was in high spirits over the success of
her expedition, and yet graciously ready to admit that she was glad to
return home--meaning thereby, to her own bed and bathing facilities; but
the general term seemed to poor Lewis a declaration of wifely devotion.
He went to his business with the mien of a man who had passed through an
ordeal and is beginning life again; but when he returned at night, as
soon as he beheld Selma, he suspected what had happened.

She was awaiting him in the parlor. Though he saw at a glance that she
looked grave, he went forward to kiss her, but she rose and, stepping
behind the table, put out her hand forbiddingly.

"What is the matter?" he faltered.

"That woman has been here," was her slow, scornful response.

"Selma, I--" A confusing sense of hopelessness as to what to say choked
Babcock's attempt to articulate. There was a brief silence, while he
looked at her imploringly and miserably.

"Is it true what she says? Have you been false to your marriage vows?
Have you committed adultery?"

"My God! Selma, you don't understand."

"It is an easy question to answer, yes or no?"

"I forgot myself, Selma. I was drunk and crazy. I ask your pardon."

She shook her head coldly. "I shall have nothing more to do with you. I
cannot live with you any longer."

"Not live with me?"

"Would you live with me if it were I who had forgotten myself?"

"I think I would, Selma. You don't understand. I was a brute. I have
been wretched ever since. But it was a slip--an accident. I drank too
much, and it happened. I love you, Selma, with all my heart. I have
never been false to you in my affection."

"It is a strange time to talk of affection. I went away for a week, and
in my absence you insulted me by debauchery with a creature like