"Pardon. I know how to tell it, provided I once know what it is – "
"Are you drunk?"
"I have never," said Desboro, courteously, "experienced intoxication. At present I am perfectly cognisant of contemporary events now passing in my immediate vicinity – "
"Where were you to meet your wife?"
"At the depository of her multitudinous and intricate affairs of business – in other words, at her office, dear friend."
"You can't go to her this way."
"It were unwise, perhaps," said Desboro, pleasantly.
Cairns gripped his arm: "You go to the baths; do you hear? Tell Louis to massage the edge off you. I'm going to speak to your wife."
So Desboro sauntered off toward the elevator and Cairns called up Jacqueline's office.
It appeared that Jacqueline had left. Should they switch him on to her private apartments above?
In a moment his call was answered.
"Is this Mrs. Desboro?" he asked. And at the same instant recognised Cynthia Lessler's voice.
She returned his greeting briefly.
"Jacqueline thought that perhaps she had misunderstood Mr. Desboro, so she has gone to the station. Did he go there?"
"N – no. He had an appointment and – "
"Where?"
"At the club – the Olympian Club – "
"Is he there?"
"Yes – "
"Then tell him to go at once to the station, or he will miss his wife and the 6:15 train, too!"
"I – he – Jim isn't feeling very well – "
"Is he ill!"
"N – no. Oh, no! He's merely tired – over-worked – "
"What!"
"Oh, he's just taking a cold plunge and a rub-down – "
"Mr. Cairns!"
"Yes."
"Take a taxi and come here before Jacqueline returns."
"Did you wish – "
"Yes. How soon can you get here?"
"Five minutes."
"I'll wait."
"A rotten piece of business," muttered Cairns, taking hat and stick from the cloak room.
The starter had a taxi ready. Except for the usual block on Fifth Avenue, they would have made it in four minutes. It took them ten.
Cynthia met him on the landing and silently ushered him into Jacqueline's pretty little parlour. She still wore her hat and coat; a fur boa lay on a sofa.
"Now," she said, leaning forward in her chair as soon as he was seated, "what is the meaning of this?"
"Of what?" he asked, pretending mild surprise.
"Of Mr. Desboro's behaviour! He was married yesterday to the dearest, sweetest, loveliest girl in the world. To-day, I stop at her office to see her – and I find that she is unhappy. She couldn't hide it from me! I love her! And all her smiles and forced gaiety and clever maneuvering were terrible to me – heart-breaking. She is dreadfully unhappy. Why?"
"I didn't know it," said Cairns honestly.
"Is that true?"
"Absolutely."
"Very well. But you know why he didn't meet Jacqueline at five, don't you?"
He looked at her miserably: "Yes, I know. I wouldn't let him."
"Is he intoxicated?"
"No. He has had more than he should have."
"What a cur!" she said between her teeth.
Cairns bit his lip and nervously twirled his walking stick.
"See here, Cynthia, Jim isn't a cur, you know."
"What do you call a man who has done what he's done?"
"I – I tell you it has me guessing. Because it isn't like Jim Desboro. He's never that way – not once in years. Only when he's up against it does he ever do that. And he's perfectly mad about his wife. Don't make any mistake there; he's dead in love with her – crazy about her. But – he came into the office about one to-day, looking like the deuce – so changed, so white, so 'all in,' that I thought he had the grippe or something."