her something in its place. Whittaker, whom you've seen a little of"—Mrs. Russell flushed slightly—"seems to have been offering her a home of her own with him; but she hasn't been able to really consider that yet; otherwise, he hasn't suggested much beyond the smashing of what she has left and scandal and divorce and disgrace. Rinderfeld has been advising—I don't know exactly what yet, but in effect he's trying to preserve the status quo, at least temporarily. Of course, as a permanent proposition, that's impossible; and he knows it. I—I'm going up to see her to-night, Mrs. Russell; and I've got to bring her something besides flowers. You said you were glad to see me because I can go to her; what word did you want to send to her?"
"What did you come to me to ask me?"
"About her father," Gregg answered directly.
"What about him?"
"What happens to him—next?"
"You mean, will he be in danger again from George Russell?"
"You know what I mean."
"Yes; will he come back to me? Why don't you ask him that? Or, if she wants to know, let her ask him; her mother and she are taking him home now." Mrs. Russell glanced down quickly at the small, octagonal watch she wore on her wrist, "Yes; this is about the time; they probably have him home again with them now."
"I didn't know that," Gregg said quietly, not endeavoring to counteract her sudden bitterness. "But of course it makes no difference; his daughter can't ask him that. He's not the one to ask; you are, when the question's put a bit differently. Are you going to take
