“My dear little girl--it is such a surprise. Fancy meeting _you!_” he laughed airily. “Where’s old Jeth? What’s the joke?” His eyes fell to her hands again. “You’re married? It was to be the sixth--wasn’t it? No--the sixteenth?” He looked at a calendar. “The tenth.” “To-day’s the fourth. Are you playing a trick? How did you know I was here? I say, Pam, be square. Is he--Jethro, you know--waiting outside? The old fellow must look odd in a frock-coat. Does he lift each foot along the pavement, as if he were walking through stubble? If he’s up, I can give him a good tip. The new company----” “The ruby mine. I know. I saw your name--that is why I came.” “Does he want an investment?” She clasped her hands with an air of hopeless, helpless tragedy. “You men are all alike. Can’t you see an inch before your nose? Do you think I should come up here about rubies? Oh! can’t you see it on my face? Jethro was just as bad; he made me tell him everything.” “Everything?” His handsome face became blank. “Everything.” She threw a hard laugh at him. “Everything--No. 4658 and all.” “You didn’t?” “I did. It is your fault. I couldn’t marry him, Eddie. I had to come. He wished it. He knows everything. He sent me.” “He sent you to me?” “Yes.” She was growing deadly pale. “Don’t you want me? I can go away--but not to Folly Corner. That is finished.” He looked troubled, stroking and tugging the coal-black, silky mustache. He raised his eyes to her, then dropped them to the ground. She had fallen back, her lids half fallen. It was a hot day; it had been a long journey. She was very tired, quite faint. She didn’t think she cared much, now that he evidently didn’t. Yet, never for a moment did she regret leaving Jethro; never for a moment entertain the idea of going back. She shut her eyes, listening quite listlessly to the rumble of life below. Her fate had long ago passed out of her own hands. She was a chattel in spirit; although free in letter. Let him settle what he liked. She was roused by a kiss on her mouth. Edred was on the lounge. His face was tender--the bold, assured tenderness that always made her happy. “Good little girl,” he said, in the half-sneering, half-caressing voice which was his nearest approach to adoration. “Good little girl to come. You must stay with me. I’ve missed you, Pam. You had the telegram?” She let her head stay on his arm; she stretched her dusty feet out wearily, with a gesture of absolute content. “Yes. It was dangerous; Jethro might have opened it. I waited by the yew half the night. Why didn’t you come?” “Because I had just a shred or so of honor left----” “The evasive thing that men call honor! I never could understand it.” “A woman doesn’t. Jethro--poor old man--had been devilish good. The two ‘hun’ put me on my feet, Pam. Like the place?” He nodded his head comprehensively at the luxury which walled them. “Decentish, isn’t it?”