"Why, what on earth's the matter? You seem horribly downcast."

Haddon was silent for a moment; then he said suddenly:

"I'll tell you all about it. I have to tell somebody or it will split my
head. But come out on the pier, away from the noise of that merry-go-round
organ."

Neither spoke as the two young men passed through the concert pavilion and
dancing hall out to a quieter part of the long pier. They sat near the
railing and looked out over the sea, on which, as evening fell, the
rippling band of moonlight grew more and more luminous. They could see,
at the right, the long line of brilliant lights on the boardwalk, and the
increasing army of promenaders. Detached from the furthest end of the line
of boardwalk lights, shone those of distant Longport. Above these, the sky
had turned from heliotrope to hues dark and indefinable, but indescribably
beautiful. Down on the beach were only a few people, strolling near the
tide line, a carriage, a man on horseback, and three frolicking dogs.

"It's simply this," abruptly began Haddon. "Six weeks ago I was married
to--"

"Why, I never heard of it. Let me congrat--"

"No, don't, I was married to a comic opera singer, named Lulu Ray. I don't
suppose you've ever heard of her, for she was only recently promoted from
the chorus to fill small parts. We took a flat, and lived happily on the
whole, for a month, although with such small quarrels as might be expected.
Two weeks ago she went out and didn't come back. Since then I haven't been
able to find her in New York or at any of the resorts along the Jersey