SO it was—Rosalind! He sat in his office and stared at the blotter on his desk.... It was a green blotter——-For years after Eldridge Walcott could not see a green blotter without a little, sudden sense of upheaval; he would walk into a plain commercial office—suddenly the walls hovered, the furniture moved subtly—even the floor grew a little unsteady before he could come with a jerk to a green blotter on the roller-top desk—and face it squarely. The blotter on his own desk was exchanged for a crimson one—the next day. He would have liked to change everything in the room. The very furniture seemed to mock him—to question....

So it was—Rosalind! Rosalind—was like that—! His heart gave a quick beat—like a boy’s—and stood still.... Rosalind was like that—for—somebody else.... He stared at the blotter and drew a pad absently toward him.

The office boy stuck his head in the door and drew it back. He shook it at a short, heavy man with a thinnish, black-grey beard who was hovering near. “He told me not to disturb him—not for anybody,” the boy said importantly.

The man took a card from his pocket and wrote on it. “Take him that.” The boy glanced at the name and at the thin, blackish beard. There was a large wart on the man’s chin where the beard did not grow. The boy’s eyes rested on it—and looked away to the card. “I ’ll—ask him—” he said.

The man nodded. “Take him that first.”

The boy went in.

The man walked to the window and looked down; the thick flesh at the back of his neck overlapped a little on the collar of his well-cut coat and the heavy shoulders seemed to shrug themselves under the smooth fit.

The boy’s eyes surveyed the back respectfully. “You’re to come in,” he says.

The man turned and went in and Eldridge Walcott looked up. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“That’s all right.” The man sat down a little heavily—as if he were tired. “That’s all right. I waited because I wanted to see you. I want some one to do—a piece of work—for me—”

“Yes?”

“I don’t care to have my regular man on it—”

“You have Clarkson, don’t you?”

“Yes—I have Clarkson.” The man waited. “Clarkson’s all right—for business,” he said. “I want a different sort—for this.”

He felt in the pocket of his coat and drew out a letter, and then another, and held them, looking down at them absently, turning them over in his hand.

“It’s a divorce—” he said. He went on turning the letters in his hand but not looking at them. “I’ve waited as long as I could,” he added after a minute. “It’s no use—” He laid the letters on the desk. “It took a detective—and money—to get ’em. I reckon they’ll do the business,” he said.

Eldridge reached out his hand for them. The man’s errand startled him a little. He had been going over divorce on the green blotter when the boy came in. He opened the letters slowly. A little faint perfume drifted up—and between him and the words came a sense of the blackish-grey beard and the wart in among it. He had stared at it, fascinated, while the man talked.... He could imagine what it might mean to a woman, day after day. He focussed his attention on the letter—and read it and took up the other and laid it down....

“Yes—Those are sufficient,” he said almost curtly. He took up his pen. “Your middle initial is J?”

“Gordon J.,” said the man.

Eldridge traced the name. “And your wife?”

The man stared at him.

“Her full name—” said Eldridge.

“Her name is Cordelia Rose—Barstow,” said the man.

Eldridge wrote it efficiently. “Do you name any one as co-respondent?”

“I name—his name is—” The man gulped and his puffy face was grim. “John E. Tower is his name,” he said slowly.

Eldridge filled in the paper before him and laid a blotter across it. “That is sufficient. I will file the application to-morrow. There will be no trouble. She will not contest it—?”

The man swallowed a little. “No—She wants—to be free—” He ended the words defiantly, but with a kind of shame.

Eldridge made no reply. He was seeing a quiet figure, with bent head, smiling at something—something that shut him out. He looked across to the man.

The man’s eyes met his. “That’s all you need—is it?” He seemed a little disappointed. “No more to it than this?”

“That’s all,” said Eldridge.

But the man did not get up. “I don’t know how it happened,” he said. “You see, I never guessed—not till two weeks—ten days ago or so.”

“I see—”

“I’d always trusted Cordelia—I hadn’t ever thought as she could do anything like that—not my wife!”

“One doesn’t usually expect it of one’s—own wife.” Eldridge laughed a little, but it was not unkindly, and the man seemed to draw toward him.

“I’ve never mentioned it—except to that detective, and I didn’t tell him—any more than I had to—He didn’t seem to need much telling—” he said dryly. “He seemed to sense just about what had been going on—without telling.”

“Yes—?” Eldridge was looking thoughtfully into the greyish-black beard with the round lump in it.

“He’s got the facts. It took him just two weeks—to get ’em.” His hand motioned toward the letters, but there was something in the face—a kind of puffy appeal.

Eldridge nodded. “They know what to do,” he said quietly.

“I hadn’t even mistrusted,” said the man. His eyes were looking at something that Eldridge could not see—something that seemed to come from a faint perfume in the room.... “I can see it plain enough now—looking back.... You don’t mind my telling you—a little—about it.” Eldridge shook his head. The man seemed a kind of lumbering boy, yet he was a shrewd, keen man in business.

“It might help—you know—” he said. “I thought you’d ask me, probably—I’d kind of planned to tell you, I guess.” He laughed a little awkwardly.

“Go ahead,” said Eldridge.

“He was my friend, you see. And I brought him home with me and made ’em friends.... I can see now, looking back, what a fool I was—about it. But I didn’t see it—then. I don’t know now what it was about him.... He’s old as I be—and I’ve got the money. I can give her everything she wants—more than he can. But I know now that from the first day she see him she was curious about him.... I’d brought him home to dinner one night—It was just after we were married.... I always kind of think of him that night—the way he looked at table—he’s tall—You know him—?”

Eldridge nodded. He was seeing the tall, distinguished figure—and beside it a humped-up one across his desk.

“We had red lamp-shades and candles and flowers—Everything shining, you know—Cordelia likes ’em that way.... When I try to think how it started I see ’em the way they looked that first night. I was proud of ’em both. I felt as if Cordelia belonged to me—and as if he did, too—in a way—” He looked at Eldridge. “I’d put him on to a good thing in business—!”

“Yes.”

“He and Cordelia laughed and talked the whole evening—kind o’ took it up—back and forth—the way you’d play ball. I could see Cordelia liked him. I was a fool. I’d waited about getting married till I had money enough to give a woman—to give her everything—and when she’d got it I never see there might be—something else she’d want.... I don’t just know what now—” He shook his head.

“Some days, since I’ve got sure of it, I’ve felt as if it couldn’t be so—as if she couldn’t have gone on living with me and having that other life—I didn’t know about—shut away from me—and I loving her....” The little, clear alcove moved before Eldridge and moved away. He was making absent marks on the edge of the pad before him.

The man sighed. “Well—It isn’t any use! That’s all, I guess—” Eldridge looked up. “Had you thought of—winning her back?”

The man shook his head. “I couldn’t do it.” He looked at him as if wondering whether he would understand. “There’s something about her I don’t get at,” he said slowly.

“Isn’t there something about any woman you don’t get at?” said Eldridge.

“That’s it!” assented the man. “It isn’t just Cordelia. It’s all of them—in back of ’em, somehow. I can’t tell you just how it is, but I’ve thought of it a lot—I guess there isn’t anything I haven’t thought of—since I knew—lying awake nights and thinking. Somehow, I knew, the first day it came to me—I knew there wasn’t any use... since the day I come on ’em at Merwin’s.”

The lawyer’s hand, making its little marks, stopped—and went on. “They were at Merwin’s—together?” he said.

“Everybody goes to Merwin’s,” said the man. “It wasn’t their being there; it was the way they looked when I saw ’em.... They were sitting in one of them little alcove places, you know—”

Eldridge nodded. Yes—he knew.

“The curtains were open—wide open,” said the man. “Anybody could ’a’ looked in. There wasn’t anything wrong about it. But I saw their faces—both of ’em—and I knew.... They were just sitting quiet—the way people do when they’re alone.... There’s something different about the way people sit—when they’re alone—by themselves—I don’t know as you’ve ever noticed it?”

“I have noticed it,” said Eldridge. “Quiet and happy—” said the man, “and not talking—and not needing to talk.” He took up his hat. “Well—you know where to find me. I shan’t bother you like this again——” He stood up.

Eldridge held out a hand. “I am glad you told me. It helps—to understand—the case.”

The man’s thick face looked at him. “I don’t understand it myself,” he said, “but I’ve got to go through with it.”

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