Mrs. Tate tried, by an almost impassioned kindness, to atone for her neglect of Blanche during her absence from London. She sent her flowers from her conservatory, she bought gifts for the little Jeanne, she called at the apartment in Upper Bedford Place nearly every morning. During these visits she did not once meet Jules; Blanche told her that he always went away soon after breakfast, and seldom returned before dinner. Sometimes he did not accompany her to the Hippodrome, but he never failed to appear there during the evening. The management had offered to reËngage Miss King as soon as her contract expired, and the diver thought of postponing her return to America; but they had not as yet come to terms, as the girl wanted a much larger salary than she had been receiving.

It was this information that reminded Mrs. Tate to ask Blanche if she were sorry she had given up her plunge and if she ever wished to resume it. Though she had at first been impressed by the solution of Blanche's troubles suggested by her husband, she had on sober second thought dismissed it as ridiculously romantic; such things might happen in novels, but they never could occur in real life. Her belief was shaken, however, when she saw the pale face light up at her question.

"Oh, yes," Blanche cried, "I have thought of it. Sometimes—sometimes I think it would be better if I hadn't given it up. Then—then that woman wouldn't have come." Her eyes filled with tears, but she controlled herself and, a moment later, she went on:—

"But I—I thought it was wrong for me to risk my life, and it made me so unhappy for Jeanne's sake. But sometimes I think I might have stopped being afraid. Before Jeanne was born I never had the least thought of fear, even after father was killed, because I knew that was because the trapeze was weak. Oh, I'm sure," she went on piteously,—"I'm sure I shouldn't be afraid any more!"

"But Dr. Broughton, you remember what he said, don't you?"

"He said that when I stopped making the plunge I should be better," Blanche replied simply. "But I'm not better; I feel worse,—oh, so much worse! I know I should be better if I tried it again. And I sha'n't be afraid any more," she repeated,—"even for Jeanne. It would be so much better for us all!"

This speech made Mrs. Tate wonder if, as her husband had suggested, Blanche had divined that Jules had cared for her performance rather than for herself, and fancied she could win him back by resuming it. Her interest increased when she learned that Jules and Miss King had not spoken to each other for two evenings. Miss King's maid, who had at last come from Manchester, and who knew a little Canadian French, had told Madeleine about it. Jules had urged Miss King to accept Marshall's terms, and was vexed with her because she refused and threatened to go back to America. This had made him even more disagreeable at home than he had been before; for the past few days he had not spoken one pleasant word to them, and he had not even noticed Jeanne.

It was this information that rang in Mrs. Tate's consciousness when she had left the apartment. Jules and that woman had quarrelled! Of course, they would make it up again,—perhaps in a few days, perhaps that very day; but if they did not, the quarrel might be one of the means of winning him back to his wife. At any rate, she would speak to her husband about it. When, on her return home, she did speak, he burst out laughing.

"I don't see how you can find anything funny in that!" she said resentfully. "It's a very serious matter."

"But it threatens to spoil my beautiful little romance!"

"Your beautiful romance? What do you mean?"

"If you had persuaded her to go back to her diving, and if she drove the other woman out of the field in that way, it would be a proof of my theory that he's fallen in love with the performance and not with the performer. But if his wife gets him back again now, it will be merely because the other woman has broken with him. There's nothing for him to do except to go back to his wife and be forgiven."

"Well, I don't care what the reason is—if she only gets him back. She'll certainly die of jealousy and misery if she doesn't,—that's plain enough. In my opinion, Dr. Broughton was entirely wrong in his diagnosis of the case. She says herself that she misses her diving and she wants to take it up again. Her rest hasn't done her a particle of good. Anyway, I'll speak to the Doctor about it to-morrow. I'll write a note, and ask him to come in for tea if he can."

"And hold another council of war," her husband suggested.

"A council of peace," she retorted smartly. "Oh, I know what you're thinking of! But I'm determined to undo the harm I've done. There's no time to be lost. If I can get that poor little woman to resume her plunge while the husband's still quarrelling with the other performer, I feel sure everything will come out all right. He'll be interested in her again. Don't you remember how he used to brag about her? I suppose you don't, but he did; and I could tell that he was as proud of her as if she were the most wonderful creature in the world."

"I don't see what she wants him for," Tate said carelessly.

"Well, you're not a woman, and you can't understand how women feel about men. I sometimes think the worse men are, the more their wives adore them."

Tate smiled, but he made no reply; he was much more interested in the case than he would allow himself to appear to be. Indeed, he was so interested that he left his office the next day earlier than usual, in order to take part in the conference. He found his wife in earnest talk with the Doctor. Before coming to the house, Dr. Broughton, at Mrs. Tate's suggestion, had made a call on Madame Le Baron, and he expressed his alarm at having found her so thin and weak.

"Do you remember what I said the night we had our first talk about her?" he asked, glancing at Tate. "I was afraid then that if she gave up her work it might upset her, though I didn't see how she could go on with the diving and keep whatever health she had. Now she's a great deal worse off than she was when I last saw her."

Then they discussed the case in all its aspects. The Doctor laughed when Mrs. Tate declared she believed the poor woman's happiness depended on her resuming her plunge. "Oh, it may seem absurd to you!" she cried, growing more earnest under ridicule; "but Percy believes it, though he may pretend to you that he doesn't. He was the one who first suggested it to me."

"I really think the diving wouldn't hurt her health so much as her worrying about her husband does," the Doctor admitted. "Besides, she believes she won't be afraid of it any more. She says her rest from it has taken all her fear away."

"Then you think the best thing for her to do would be to resume the plunge?" said Mrs. Tate.

For a moment the Doctor stroked his chin. "Under the circumstances I should say it might," he replied slowly. "At any rate, it would be worth trying. Of course, if that haunting fear returned she'd have to stop it again."

A look of triumph flashed from the face of Mrs. Tate; and when she glanced at her husband she saw that he was trying to dissemble his interest in the decision. "I shall tell her that to-morrow!" she cried. "It'll be the best news the poor thing has had for a long time. She's crazy to begin that plunge again."

"I hope you are ready to take the consequences of your interference in this business," said Tate, dryly.

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