XVI


After Masters had assisted Mrs. Abbott's large bulk into her
barouche, resisting the impulse to pitch it in headfirst, he walked
slowly up the stairs. He was seething with fury, and he was also
aghast. The woman had unquestionably precipitated the crisis he had
hoped to avoid. To use her favorite expression, the fat was in the
fire; and she would see to it that it was maintained at sizzling
point. He ground his teeth as he thought of the inferences, the
innuendos, the expectations, the constant linking of his name with
Madeleine's. Madeleine!

It was true, of course, that the gossip might stop short of scandal
if she entered the afternoon treadmill once more and showed herself
so constantly that the most malignant must admit that she had no time
for dalliance; it was well known that he spent the morning and late
afternoon hours at the office.

But that would mean that he must give her up. She was the last woman
to consent to stolen meetings, even were he to suggest them, for the
raison d'etre of their companionship would be gone. And that phase
could end in but one way.

What a dreamer he had been, he, a man of the world, to imagine that
such an idyll could last. Perhaps four perfect months were as much as
a man had any right to ask of life. Nevertheless, he experienced not
the slightest symptom of resignation. He felt reckless enough to
throw his future to the winds, kidnap Madeleine, and take the next