his head; his shirt bosom was sadly crumpled; above the knees, to
a casual glance, he presented the appearance of a man carefully
attired in evening dress; below, his legs were sodden and muddied,
his shoes of patent-leather, twin wrecks. Alas for jauntiness and
elegance, alack for ease and aplomb!

"Tricked," observed Maitland casually, and protruded his lower
lip, thus adding to the length of a countenance naturally long.
"Outwitted by a chit of a girl! Dammit!"

But this was crude melodrama. Realizing which, he strove to smile:
a sorry failure.

"'Handsome Dan,'" quoted he; and cocking his head to one side eyed
the road inquiringly. "Where in thunder d'you suppose she got hold
of _that_ name?"

Bestowed upon him in callow college days, it had stuck burr-like
for many a weary year. Of late, however, its use had lapsed among
his acquaintances; he had begun to congratulate himself upon
having lived it down. And now it was resurrected, flung at him in
sincerest mockery by a woman whom, to his knowledge, he had never
before laid eyes upon. Odious appellation, hateful invention of an
ingenious enemy!

"'Handsome Dan!' She must have known me all the time--all the time
I was making an exhibition of myself.... 'Wentworth'? I know no
one of that name. Who the dickens can she be?"

If it had not been contrary to his code of ethics, he would gladly