He stood there a moment alone silently watching the lamps of the town sink away and vanish. His thought was all of Fannie. She was Fannie Ravenel now. Fate had laughed at him. He calculated that the pair must about this time be rising from supper on the boat. "Happy bridegroom!--and happy bride!" As the dark landscape perpetually spun away from him he began with an inexperienced traveler's self-consciousness to think of the strangeness of his own situation; but very soon Fannie's image came before him again in a feverish mingling of gratitude and resentment. Had she not made his life? But for her he might yet be teaching school in the hills of Sandstone. No doubt he would have outgrown such work; but when? how soon? how tardily? how fatally late? She had lured and fooled him; but she had lured and fooled him into a largeness of purpose, a breadth of being, which without her might never have come to him. "I cannot be with her, I must not go near her; but I am here!" he exclaimed, catching a certain elation from his unaccustomed speed. "The prospect may be desert, but it's wide; it's wide!" She had been good _for_ him, he mused, not to him. She had been wiser than she meant; certainly she had not been kind. She was not cold-hearted. His welfare was dear to her. And yet she had cold-heartedly amused herself with him. She was light-minded. There! The truth was out! Just what he meant by it was not so clear; but there it was, half comforting him, half excusing her; she was light-minded! Well, she was Fannie Ravenel now. "Happy Fannie Ravenel!" He said it with a tempered bitterness and went in. It was the sleeping-car he was on. Two steps brought him to the open entrance of its smoking-room--they were enough. With drooping eyelids its sole occupant was vacantly smiling at the failure of his little finger to push the ash from a cold cigar. "Jeff-Ja'!" exclaimed March, "O my Lord!" The bridegroom looked up with a smart exaggeration of his usual cynicism and said, "J--(h-h)--Johnnie, this 's 'n un'spec'--'spected pleasure!" "I thought you were aboard the----" faltered John, and stood dumb, gnawing his lip and burning with emotions. "John, o' frien', take a chair." The speaker waved a hand in tipsy graciousness. "What made you think I was aboard--I look like one? Wha'--(h-h)--kind o' board--sideboard? S' down, John, make 'seff at home. Happm have cars all t' ourselves. Mr. March, this 's ufforshnate, ain't it? Don't y' sink so? One o' my p'culiar 'tacks. Come on 'tirely since leavin' Suez. Have--(h-h)--seat. My dear frien', I know what you're thinkin' 'bout. You're won'rin' where bride is an' feel del'cacy 'bout askin'. She's in state-room oth' end the car, locked in. She's not 'zactly locked in, but I'm locked out. Mrs. Ravenel is--(h-h)--annoyed at this, Mr. March; ve'y mush annoyed." He put on a frown. "John, 'll you do me a--(h-h)--favor?" "I'm afraid I can't, Ravenel. I've a good notion to get off at the next station."