"Glen," she said, "we've been playing with something bigger than merely
Folly. I saw her to-day, just a flash in Bond Street. I saw her face. If
Lew holds out another week, she's going to marry him, and yet, somehow,
I don't believe she loves him. Something tells me you weren't wrong when
you said she could love nothing but just herself."
Leighton sighed.
"I know I wasn't wrong," he said. "But you are right: she's going to marry him. And I'll have to stand by and see him through. Watch her break him up and throw him off. And I'll have to pick up the pieces and stick them together. One doesn't like to have to do that sort of thing twice. I did it with my own life. I don't want to do it with Lew's. There are such a lot of patched lives. I wanted him—I wanted him—"
H lne crossed the room quickly, and put her arms around Leighton, one hand pressing his head to her.
"Glen," she said softly, "why, Glen!"
Leighton was not sobbing. He was simply quivering from head to toe—quivering so that he could not speak. His teeth chattered. H lne smoothed his brow and his crisp hair, shot with gray. She soothed him.
"H lne," he said at last, "he's my boy."
"Glen," said H lne, "if you love him—love him like that, she can't break him up. Don't be frightened. Go and find him. Send him to me."
Leighton did not have to look for Lew. He had scarcely reached the flat when Lew came rushing in, a transformed Lew, radiant, throbbing with happiness.
"Dad," he cried, "she's said 'Yes.' She's going to marry me. Do you hear, Dad?"