Paul was sorry, too. He had a feeling that Jack had not been treated quite fairly, but he could not tell Clarice so. They would make it up, he thought, when they met him West, if they did meet him. It was quite late when he said good-night to Clarice, telling her he should not see her till the next afternoon, as he had promised to sing a difficult solo in church in the morning. “My farewell, you know, as after I am married I suppose I must sit with my wife,” he said, kissing Clarice’s blushing cheek with unwonted tenderness as he said “my wife.” He did not tell her that Elithe had been asked to sing in the choir, that her first appearance would be on the morrow and that he would not like to miss being there to hear her. He had been greatly interested in getting her into the choir, and more interested in what she was to sing at the offertory. In the absence of the first soprano that part, at his suggestion, had been offered her, and, after a great deal of persuasion, she had accepted it. Before going to see Clarice that night he had attended the rehearsal and heard with pride Elithe’s voice rise clear and unfaltering, without a break, while the few spectators present listened wonderingly to this new bird of song. He did not return home by way of the cottage, as he usually did, looking always for the light which, though only a light like that of many more on the ridge where Miss Hansford’s cottage stood, streamed across the green sward down towards the avenue with a softer radiance than the others, because it first shone on Elithe. If he had analyzed himself and seen what construction might have been put upon his thoughts if they were known, he would have turned from the picture with dismay, for he meant to be true as steel to Clarice, and had never loved her better than when he said good-bye to her that Saturday night and went whistling along Ocean Avenue, which took him past Harbor Hotel. A few of the guests were sitting upon the piazza, and, seeing these, Paul joined them, listened to their gay banter a few moments, and then went inside to examine the register, as he often did. “Pretty full, arn’t you?” he said to the clerk, who replied, “Jam up. Had to turn off a lot, and among them Jack Percy. Seen him?” “Jack Percy in town! When did he come?” Paul asked. “On the four o’clock boat. Looked pretty hard, too,” was the clerk’s answer. “Why didn’t he go to his mother’s?” was Paul’s next question, as he turned the leaves of the register till he found Jack’s name. “I asked him that, and he said he wasn’t wanted, and consigned his mother to Hades,” the clerk replied, with a meaning look at Paul. “But where did he go? Where is he now?” Paul continued. The clerk could not tell him. “He is to take his meals here, but where he is to sleep I don’t know.”