"I saw Arnold to-day," she said, "he is terribly—terribly—" she hesitated for a word, "cut up about it. Yet he swears he can't for the life of him see that he was to blame. Had he been to blame, he says, he would have shot himself."
"Would he?" he remarked indifferently.
"He sails for Europe on Saturday—if he hears she's found."
He bit back an exclamation of anger.
"What, under heaven, has he to do with it?" he asked.
"A great deal, one would think. But have you seen her? Tell me of her."
"Be good to her," he answered, "she is in a hard place and needs a great deal of love."
"And we can give it to her, you and I?"
"Mine is hers already, if it's any help."
"Was it hers before she knew Arnold even?"