"No more than the rest of us, I presume. She gave her two weeks'
notice because he annoyed her; but before the time was up Bergman
took a hand. He sent for her one evening, and when she went down
there was Mr. Hammon, too. When she came up-stairs she was
hysterical. She cried and laughed and cursed--it was terrible."

"Curious," murmured the man, staring at the object of their
controversy. "What did she say?"

"Oh, nothing connected. She called him every kind of a monster,
accused him of every crime from murder to--"

"Murder!" The banker started.

"He had made a long fight to beat her down, and she was unstrung.
She seemed to have a queer physical aversion to him."

"Humph! She's got nobly over THAT."

"I've told you this because you seemed to think she's to blame,
when it is all Mr. Hammon's doing."

"It's a peculiar situation--very. You've interested me. But the
man himself is peculiar, extraordinary. You can't draw a proper
line on his conduct without knowing the circumstances of his home
life, and, in fact, his whole mental make-up. Sometime I'll tell
you his story; I think it would interest you. In a way I don't
blame him for seeking amusement and happiness where he can find
it, and yet--I'm afraid of the result. This supper means more than
you can understand or than I can explain."