"Then I don't really see why you want to talk to ME about it. And if you
are thinking that such a story would go down for a moment with Joan as
an evidence of your reformation, you're completely out, Dick. Was that
your idea?"

"Yes--and I can tell you, you're wrong again, Ned. You don't know
anything about women. You do just as I say--do you understand?--and
don't interfere with your own wrong-headed opinions of what other people
will think, and I'll take the risks of Mrs. Blandford giving me good
advice. Your wife has got a heap more sense on these subjects than you
have, you bet. You just tell her that I want to marry the girl and want
her to help me--that I mean business, this time--and you'll see how
quick she'll come down. That's all I want of you. Will you or won't
you?"

With an outward expression of sceptical consideration and an inward
suspicion of the peculiar force of this man's dogmatic insight,
Blandford assented, with, I fear, the mental reservation of telling
the story to his wife in his own way. He was surprised when his friend
suddenly drew the horse up sharply, and after a moment's pause began
to back him, cramp the wheels of the buggy and then skilfully, in the
almost profound darkness, turn the vehicle and horse completely round to
the opposite direction.

"Then you are not going over the bridge?" said Blandford.

Demorest made an imperative gesture of silence. The tumultuous rush
and roar of swollen and rapid water came from the darkness behind them.
"There's been another break-out somewhere, and I reckon the bridge has