"Oh, I know: the secretary," the young man took
him up. "Nonsense, mother; Janey's grown-up. They
say, don't they," he went on, "that the secretary helped
her to get away from her brute of a husband, who kept
her practically a prisoner? Well, what if he did? I hope
there isn't a man among us who wouldn't have done
the same in such a case."

Mr. Jackson glanced over his shoulder to say to the
sad butler: "Perhaps . . . that sauce . . . just a little,
after all--"; then, having helped himself, he remarked:
"I'm told she's looking for a house. She means to live
here."

"I hear she means to get a divorce," said Janey
boldly.

"I hope she will!" Archer exclaimed.

The word had fallen like a bombshell in the pure and
tranquil atmosphere of the Archer dining-room. Mrs.
Archer raised her delicate eye-brows in the particular
curve that signified: "The butler--" and the young
man, himself mindful of the bad taste of discussing
such intimate matters in public, hastily branched off
into an account of his visit to old Mrs. Mingott.

After dinner, according to immemorial custom, Mrs.
Archer and Janey trailed their long silk draperies up to
the drawing-room, where, while the gentlemen smoked