What if some day his Rose should grow to be as indifferent, feel
as little tenderness toward him as he had felt toward his wife at
that moment. The pain of it made him break out into a fine sweat.
But he hadn't understood. What had he understood until this love
had come into his life! He would never do a thing as cruel as
that now. Come to think of it, the older Rose wasn't acting like
a bad sort. But then, when it came to a show-down she might not
be so magnanimous as she had appeared tonight.

Mrs. Wade was still thinking. She also was measuring
possibilities and clairvoyantly sensing what was going on in her
husband's mind. She, too, was sure that Rose would capitulate to
him. She felt a deep sympathy for the girl. Martin had said it
himself--he was too old for her. Her happiness lay with youth.
And yet, how could one be so certain? Love was so illusive, so
capricious! Did it really bow to the accident of years? Had she,
Rose Wade, the right to snatch from anyone's hands the most
precious gift of life? Wouldn't she have sold her very soul, at
one time, to have had Martin care for her like this? Oh, if the
child were wise she would not hesitate! She would drink her cup
of joy while it was held out to her brimming full. A strange
conclusion for a staid churchwoman like Mrs. Wade, but her rich
humanity transcended all her training. She wondered if there
could be anything in the belief that there was waiting somewhere
for each soul just one other. There were people, she knew, who
thought that. Rose had drawn out all that was finest in
Martin--she had transformed him into a lover, and if she wanted
the man, himself, she could have him. But, decided his wife, he
could not take with him the things which her sweat and blood had
helped to create. She would give him a divorce, but her terms