happen if you let him go away alone!"

Putting aside her book, the woman came to join the company on the
veranda.

She was rather a handsome woman, but with a suggestion of coarseness in
form and features, though her face, in spite of its too-evident signs of
dissipation, was not a bad face.

Seating herself on the top step, with her back against the post in an
attitude of careless abandonment, she looked up at the negro who stood
grinning in the doorway. "Bring me a highball, Jim: you know my kind."
Then to the company: "Somebody give me a cigarette."

Harry tossed a silver case in her lap. Another man, who sat near, leaned
over her with a lighted match.

Expelling a generous cloud of smoke from her shapely lips, she
demanded: "What is this you are all shouting about Harry having another
love-nest?"

During the answering chorus of boisterous laughter and jesting remarks,
she drank the liquor which the negro brought.

Then Harry, pointing out Auntie Sue's house, which was easily visible
from where they sat, related his experience. And among the many
conjectures, and questions, and comments offered, no one suggested even
that the man and the woman living in that little log house by the river
might be entirely innocent of the implied charge. For those who are
themselves guilty, to assume the guilt of others is very natural and