or only secretly so, while his quondam friends watched his career
from afar. So, thinking of this, he took the train one day, his
charming mistress, now only twenty-six, coming to the station to
see him off. He looked at her quite tenderly, for she was the
quintessence of a certain type of feminine beauty.

"By-by, dearie," he smiled, as the train-bell signaled the approaching
departure. "You and I will get out of this shortly. Don't grieve.
I'll be back in two or three weeks, or I'll send for you. I'd
take you now, only I don't know how that country is out there.
We'll fix on some place, and then you watch me settle this fortune
question. We'll not live under a cloud always. I'll get a divorce,
and we'll marry, and things will come right with a bang. Money
will do that."

He looked at her with his large, cool, penetrating eyes, and she
clasped his cheeks between her hands.

"Oh, Frank," she exclaimed, "I'll miss you so! You're all I have."

"In two weeks," he smiled, as the train began to move, "I'll wire
or be back. Be good, sweet."

She followed him with adoring eyes--a fool of love, a spoiled
child, a family pet, amorous, eager, affectionate, the type so
strong a man would naturally like--she tossed her pretty red gold
head and waved him a kiss. Then she walked away with rich, sinuous,
healthy strides--the type that men turn to look after.

"That's her--that's that Butler girl," observed one railroad clerk