coast. I suppose she was offended at something I said during a quarrel that
grew out of my insisting on our staying in New York all summer. Knowing her
liking for Atlantic City--she was a Philadelphia girl before she went on
the stage--I came here at once to hunt her up and apologize and agree to
her terms."

"Well?"

"Well, I haven't found her. She's not at any hotel in Atlantic City. I'm
going back to New York to-morrow to get some clue as to where she is."

"I suppose you're very fond of her still?"

"Yes; that's the trouble. And then, of course, a man doesn't like to have
a woman who bears his name going around the country alone, her whereabouts
unknown."

Morrow was on the point of saying: "Or perhaps with some other man," but he
checked himself. He was sufficiently mundane to refrain from attempting to
reason Haddon out of his affection for the fugitive, or to advise him as to
what to do. He knew that in merely letting Haddon unburden on him the cause
of anxiety, he had done all that Haddon would expect from any friend.

He limited himself, therefore, to reminding Haddon that all men have their
annoyances in this life; to treating the woman's offence as light and
commonplace, and to cheering him up by making him join in seeing the sights
of the boardwalk.

They looked on at the pier hop, while Professor Willard's musicians played
popular tunes; returned to the boardwalk and watched the pretty girls