With shuddering movement Selwyn's elbows were on his knees, his face
in his hands, and only the dropping of a coal upon the hearth broke
the stillness of the room. Presently he got up and again went over
to the window. When he next spoke his voice was quiet, but in it a
bitterness and weariness he made no effort to conceal. "It was
Harrie, but he would tell me nothing about the girl. From some one
else I learned where I could find her. A few days after I saw her,
Harrie went away."

"Did you make him go?"

"No. I had a talk with him during which he told me to mind my own
damned business and he would mind his." Selwyn turned from the
window and came back to the sofa, on his lips a faint smile. "When
he went off he didn't tell me he was going, left no address, and for
some time I didn't know where he was. Less than three weeks ago I
had a telegram from him saying he was ill and to send money. I wired
the money and left for El Paso on the first train I could make. I
tried to see you before I went, but you were out."

"Why didn't you write?"

"I couldn't. Once or twice I tried, but gave it up. I found that
Harrie had undoubtedly been ill, but when I reached him he was up and
about. Two hours before I took the train to return home he informed
me of his engagement to--"

"His what?" For a moment I sat rigidly upright, in my eyes indignant
unbelief. Then I sat back limp and relaxed, my hands, palms upward,
in my lap.