Larry threw himself down upon one of the divans, covered his face with his hands, dropped them to catch in Olaf’s eyes troubled reproach, looked at me.

“ I couldn’t help it,” he said, half defiantly⁠—half-miserably. “God, what a woman! I couldn’t help it!”

“Larry,” I asked. “Why didn’t you tell her you didn’t love her⁠—then?”

He gazed at me⁠—the old twinkle back in his eye.

“Spoken like a scientist, Doc!” he exclaimed. “I suppose if a burning angel struck you out of nowhere and threw itself about you, you would most dignifiedly tell it you didn’t want to be burned. For God’s sake, don’t talk nonsense, Goodwin!” he ended, almost peevishly.