Glenn left the house and went at once, only to find that Mr. Kent was not at home. Several days in succession he called with the same result. He wondered what impulse would lead him to if he should meet him by chance. Delay could scarcely weaken his determination to even up this score. When Glenn went to the regular meeting of the club a few days later, it was a little shock of surprise that the name of Stephen Kent was up for membership. With a delicate tact he avoided any part of the proceedings that was not forced upon him. When it came his turn to cast his ballot for the man of whom he could have said a week ago he was all honor, he started, trembling violently as he let fall from his hand--a black ball. The results of the ballot came as a great surprise to every man of them except the one who had turned the course. Questioning, no doubt, went round the room and there was a ripple of comment passing among the groups after the meeting was over and the members were going out. At the foot of the stairs one man met Stephen Kent and told him the result, which he had come over to learn. The disappointment in his face was intense as he took a few steps more, taking out his penknife to cut his cigar, and met Glenn Andrews. “Look here, Andrews, what does this mean? They tell me I am blackballed.” “They told you the truth,” he said, coolly. “Well! that’s damned strange.” Kent’s answer had in it the sting of humiliation. “If I knew the man who did it, I would thrash him within an inch of his life. The sneak!” Glenn Andrews’ eyes were dilated and flashing. “Stephen Kent, you don’t have to go very far to find him. I am the man.” “You; and may I ask why?” “Because your dishonorable conduct to Miss Powel proved to me that you are not a gentleman.” He was fearless in speech and action. His exultant manliness made the other cower. “A man generally knows the lay of the land. She is pretty free.” “Free, my God!” Glenn Andrews’ face flashed fire. “You are a liar!” The next moment the two grappled. A crowd gathered around in wild excitement. Before they could be parted the battle had been fought. With the first lift of his hand, Stephen Kent’s penknife had slipped across and cut the radial artery of Glenn Andrews’ wrist. Regardless of the flow of blood, he had dealt the blow that laid the other at his feet. CHAPTER II. IT was several days before Glenn felt able to resume his work. He kept away from Esther until he could give himself a chance to recover from the acute anaemia from which he suffered. Finally, when he called, he found that she had left that place, and her address could not be given him. He was worried and bitterly wounded. This girl, wild of heart, full of all sorts of emotions, full of unreasoning impulses who had once been easy for him to understand, had gained a complexity and subtlety new to him.