her-a handsomer, livelier, more entertaining man with whom Dyckman wa

gan his courtship, Dyckman withdrew from Miss Coe's

ot me beat. I kno

aign. Charity was Mrs. Cheever before she knew it. Her friends

up quickly, but when his temperature reached a certain degree, sprinklers of cold water opened in his

t the thought of an exploration of war-filled Europe. His blushing bride was a

d left his bride to her own devices while he shot alon

red victim of a gas-attack, was bewailing the fate of his motherles

will adopt you

Merci, Madame! Merci, Madame!" Another father was writhing in the premature hell of l

rde of war orphans and divided them up with Muriel Schuyl

ear herself away from her privilege of suffering, even to follow her bridegroom home. He had cooled to her also, and he made no protest. He promised to come back for her. H

with one of those astonishing animals which the moving pictures have hardly caricatured as a "vam

was maddening. He understood for the first time why people of a sort write anonymous letters. He could not stoop to that degradation, and yet he

Cheever. One day at a club the he-

Cheever at

nxiously, "W

arl

ou mean-ne

at sinking ship Cheever rescued her from. They tell me she was a cabar

obsession

t to write his

lth. But it would be still better if his wife would come home and mind her own business. These American

He was afraid to yield to his impulse to smash Prissy in the droop of his mustache. Prissy

defend another man's wife's name, and Dyckman proved his d

to be granted vacations from the trenches; and so an eminent American surgeon in charge of the hospital she adorned finally drov

of seclusion and quiet drove him frantic and he grew busy once more. He recalled Miss L'Etoile from the hardships of dancing for her sup

d let Cheever push him aside and carry off Charity Coe, and now he must wat

ble. Yet what could Dyckman do about it? He dared not even meet Charity. He hated her husband, and he knew that her husband hate

o his heels. He lingered in the Canadian wilds till he thought it safe to return. And no

before he met her. He was not sure what she ought to do when she learn

nd that she still loved the wretch and trusted him. It was up to Jim to tel

tly at a critic of her infernal husband as serenely as a

nsnubbed, accepting the worship of an angel like Charity Coe and repaying it with black treachery! To keep silen

o break the news. His voice mu

which makes criminals of every degree feel that no cri

t in the mood or in the place where such a disclosure should be made. Some d

meditated the answer to the latest riddle. His thoug

n your mi

as just

t ab

thi

r knee like a wilted lily. He wrung her fingers with a vigor t

ness of this, and said, "I think

e window. So did she. On the windows their own reflections were cast in transparent fil

a switch-engine eternally shunting cars from one track to another. His ver

much for me. It'

complexity that Charity smiled, the same sad, sweet smile with which she pored on the book

ve of him. For she did love him. And she would have married him if he had asked her earlier-bef

other who doted on him. He had wealth of his own and millions to come. He had healt

pitie

this same car, unnoticed

arity was uncertain whether her husband would meet her or not. Jim did not want t

ys disliked Jim Dyckman because Dyckman had always disliked him, and Jim's transpa

rels, Cheever had taunted her with wishing she had married Jim, and she had retorted that she had indeed made a big mistake in

was a powerful athlete and a boxer who made minor professionals look ridiculous. Dyckman was bigger, but not so clever. A battle between the two stags over the forlorn doe would be a horrible

y-fifth Street, but he would not show himself so poltroon. He

Then I'll get o

ff there with yo

was the irresistible thrill of his devotion. She had a husband who would desert her

her command or she her impulse. Or would it hav