"Consider this other man as dead and gone," cut in Monte. "He was lucky to be able to play the small part in her life that he did play."
"But something is disturbing her. I know her voice; I know her laugh. If I did n't have those to go by, there'd be something else. I can feel when she's herself and when she is n't."
Monte grasped his chair arms. He had studied her closely the last few days, and had not been able to detect the fact that she was worried. He had thought her gayer, more light-hearted, than usual. It was so that she had held herself before him. If Peter was right,—and Monte did not doubt the man's superior intuition,—then obviously she was worrying over the technicality that still held her a prisoner. Until she was actually free she would live up to the letter of her contract. This would naturally tend to strain her intercourse with Peter. She was not one to take such things lightly.
Monte rose, crossed the room, and placed his hand on Peter's shoulder.
"I think I can assure you," he said slowly, "that if there is anything bothering her now, it is nothing that will last. All you've got to do is to be patient and hold on."
"You seem to be mighty confident."
"If you knew what I know, you'd be confident too."
Peter frowned.
"I don't like discussing these things, but—they mean so much."
"So much to all of us," nodded Monte. "Now, the thing to do is to turn in and get a good night's sleep. After all, there is something in keeping normal."