He went into the office, got a cigar, and lighted it moodily. He glanced at the bottles ranged upon the shelves behind the bar, drew in his breath for speech, let it go in a sigh, and walked out. He knew perfectly well what Val had meant. She had deliberately thrown him back upon his own strength. He had fallen by himself, he must pick himself up; and she would stand back and watch the struggle, and judge him according to his failure or his success. He had a dim sense that it was a dangerous experiment. He looked for Kent, found him just as he was mounting at the stables, and let him go almost without a word. After all, no one could help him. He stood there smoking after Kent had gone, and when his cigar was finished he wandered back to the hotel. As was always the case after hard drinking, he had a splitting headache. He got a room as close to Val's as he could, shut himself into it, and gave himself up to his headache and to gloomy meditation. All day he lay upon the bed, and part of the time he slept. At supper time he rapped upon Val's door, got no answer, and went down alone, to find her in the dining room. There was an empty chair beside her, and he took it as his right. She talked a little--about the fire and the damage it had done. She said she was worried because she had forgotten to bring the cat, and what would it find to eat out there? “Everything's burned perfectly black for miles and miles, you know,” she reminded him. They left the room together, and he followed her upstairs and to her door. This time she did not shut him out, and he went in and sat down by the window, and looked out upon the meager little street. Never, in the years he had known her, had she been so far from him. He watched her covertly while she searched for something in her suit case. “I'm afraid I didn't bring enough clothes to last more than a day or two,” she remarked. “I couldn't seem to think of anything that night. Arline did most of the packing for me. I'm afraid I misjudged that woman, Manley; there's a good deal to her, after all. But she _is_ funny.” “Val, I want to tell you I'm going to--to be different. I've been a beast, but I'm going to--” So much he had rushed out before she could freeze him to silence again. “I hope so,” she cut in, as he hesitated, “That is something you must judge for yourself, and do by yourself. Do you think you will be able to get a team tomorrow?” “Oh--to hell with a team!” Manley exploded. Val dropped her hairbrush upon the floor. “Manley Fleetwood! Has it come to that, also? Isn't it enough to--” She choked. “Manley, you can be a--a drunken sot, if you choose--I've no power to prevent you; but you shall not swear in my presence. I thought you had some of the instincts of a gentleman, but--” She set her teeth hard together. She was white around the mouth, and her whole, slim body was aquiver with outraged dignity.