ELDRIDGE went on making little marks on the edge of the paper. He no longer stared at the blotter; he was seeing things. Gordon Barstow’s recital¹ had shown things to him in perspective and his own trouble seemed moved far away from him to a kind of clear place. He sat and looked at it—making little marks on the paper. Rosalind was not to blame. A woman like Rosalind had the right—she could do what she wanted! What had he ever done to win her—to keep her? Not even money. He had kept it for himself—and built up a comfortable fortune.... He had the fortune—yes. And he had lost Rosalind.... He suddenly saw himself in the clear light—he was not lovable like old Barstow. The vision grew before him—all his saving closeness, his dulness—a lifeless prig!... And then the picture of Rosalind, the vision of her in her alcove²—“the way people sit when they are alone—I don’t know as you ever noticed—?” old Barstow had said.
 
Well, then—what was to be done? His shoulders squared a little. No man was going to win Rosalind—without a fight! The man who would win her should reckon with him.... He had never known Rosalind. Perhaps Rosalind had never known him.... What had he given her—to know him by? She had had the right to work for him, to sweep his floors and make his bed and take care of the children... She should have money now. She should become a partner—in all his plans—and suddenly El-dridge Walcott saw that money would not win her—money would not buy the gracious presence in the alcove; she did not need money.... He must give his soul—to win her—Then he took out his soul and looked at it—the shrunken, dry, rattling³ thing—and flicked⁴ it from him with a finger-nail.
 
The office boy put his head in cautiously.
 
“What do you want?” said Eldridge harshly.
 
“It’s Mr. Dutton,” said the boy.
 
“Well, show him in.”
 
And while Mr. Dutton talked of real estate, Eldridge’s soul peeped out at the man. He wanted to stop the flow of facts and figures and put a straight question to him. “How do you get on with your wife, Mr. Dutton?” he wanted to say to him. He could see the man’s startled face checked in its flow of fact.... It would not do; of course it would not do to ask him how he got on with his wife. Probably he got on with her as Eldridge Walcott had done—sewing, sweeping⁵, eating, saving—“So I have decided,” the man was saying, “to take the entire block—if the title is good.”
 
Eldridge Walcott bowed him out and turned back from the door. But he did not sit down. He would go to Merwin’s. Perhaps she was there—she had said she might come in to town.... But, with his hand on the door, he paused——Suppose he found her—What then?—and the man with her? What then?—Suppose he found her! There was nothing he could do—not yet! He would win her back.... But the man he had to reckon with was not the man sittin............