letter he carried in his pocket told the truth. He had but to think
of her as married to Robert Narramore and the jealous fury of
natural man drove him headlong.

Monday was again a holiday. When would the cursed people get back to
their toil, and let the world resume its wonted grind and clang?
They seemed to have been making holiday for a month past.

He walked up and down on the pavement near his door, until at the
street corner there appeared a figure he knew. It was Patty
Ringrose, again unaccompanied.



CHAPTER XXIV


They shook hands without a word, their eyes meeting for an instant
only. Hilliard led the way upstairs; and Patty, still keeping an
embarrassed silence, sat down on the easy-chair. Her complexion was
as noticeably fresh as Hilliard's was wan and fatigued. Where
Patty's skin showed a dimple, his bore a gash, the result of an
accident in shaving this morning.

With hands behind he stood in front of the girl.

"She chose not to come, then?"

"Yes. She asked me to come and see you alone."