"I've been doing little else than thinking for the last year and a half," Lorraine continued. "It's the sight of her that stirs it up afresh, just when I thought it overcome. I tell you, Cameron, you must go through what I've gone through, loving your wife, to understand and appreciate. It is well enough for you and the rest of my friends to caution prudence—to resume the old life—to forget—to choose the expedient way—but try it! only try it!" He brought his fist down on the table. "It will be the damnedest hardest thing you have ever attempted!"
"There is no possible doubt of that, Lorraine," Cameron agreed. "But you're up against a hard proposition—one that tries men's souls, and takes a man to meet and handle. You've handled it with great credit thus far, old chap, and I want to see you handle it so to the end. We're all interested, you know—interested because we're your friends."
"I know you are," said Lorraine. "I appreciate your regard more than I can say. I'm not going to make a scene with—Stephanie; nor do anything to Amherst—if he keeps away from me. This unexpected meeting with her hasn't bereft me of quite all my senses—though it did stagger me for a moment. I'm all right now, Cameron. I'll be strictly conventional, hereafter, never fear."
"I'm not afraid," Cameron smiled. "The fateful moment has passed. You'll be right as a trivet henceforth."
He gave his order to a passing boy, and this time Lorraine joined him.
"Are you staying here for dinner?" Lorraine asked presently.
Cameron nodded. "I'm dining with the Emersons—a sort of a pick-up crowd, I fancy—at least I'm a pick-up. I wasn't asked until about half an hour ago."
"The Emersons sure are coming along," Lorraine remarked. "It's the gold key with them, all right—and they use it on every occasion. I venture they try for Burgoyne—he has just returned from abroad. He is sort of a celebrity, and a near-celebrity is better than nothing."