He held a man who threw a girl over as something contemptible, and he
certainly did not want to appear to himself in that light; or, for her
sake, that people should think he had tired of her, or found her
wanting in any one particular. He knew only too well how people would
talk. How they would say he had never really cared for her; that he
didn't know his own mind when he had proposed to her; and that it was
a great deal better for her as it is than if he had grown out of humor
with her later. As to their saying she had jilted him, he didn't mind
that. He much preferred they should take that view of it, and he was
chivalrous enough to hope she would think so too.

He was walking slowly, and had reached Thirtieth Street. A great many
young girls and women had bowed to him or nodded from the passing
carriages, but it did not tend to disturb the measure of his thoughts.
He was used to having people put themselves out to speak to him;
everybody made a point of knowing him, not because he was so very
handsome and well-looking, and an over-popular youth, but because he
was as yet unspoiled by it.

But, in any event, he concluded, it was a miserable business. Still,
he had only done what was right. He had seen it coming on for a month
now, and how much better it was that they should separate now than
later, or that they should have had to live separated in all but
location for the rest of their lives! Yes, he had done the right
thing--decidedly the only thing to do.

He was still walking up the Avenue, and had reached Thirty-second
Street, at which point his thoughts received a sudden turn. A half-
dozen men in a club window nodded to him, and brought to him sharply
what he was going back to. He had dropped out of their lives as