"None," he glooped, "none. I have no business." They
stood sensing one another.

"I thought you were in Philadelphia," she said--her gown
clinging to every fibre of her as she spoke.

"I was," he wheezed.

"And you left it?" she sharped, her voice tense.

"I left it," he said, his voice glumping as he spoke.
"Need I tell you why?" He had come nearer to her. She
could hear his pants as he moved.

"No, no," she gurgled. "You left it. It is enough. I can
understand"--she looked bravely up at him--"I can
understand any man leaving it."

Then as he moved still nearer her, there was the sound
of a sudden swift step in the corridor. The door opened
and there stood before them The Other Man, the Husband
of The Woman--Edward Dangerfield.

This, of course, is the grand snoopopathic climax, when
the author gets all three of them--The Man, The Woman,
and The Woman's Husband--in an hotel room at night. But
notice what happens.

He stood in the opening of the doorway looking at them,