If he could work these things all in together--Cogitating absorbedly, he glanced up to see Ben Sansome sauntering down the street, his malacca cane at the proper angle, his cylindrical hat resting lightly on his sleek locks, his whole person spick with the indescribably complete appointment of the dandy. Sansome was mixed up with the Keiths--perhaps he could be used--On impulse Morrell hailed him genially, and invited him to take a drink. The exquisite brightened, and perceptibly hastened his step. Morrell's rather ultra-Anglicism always fascinated him. They turned in at the El Dorado, and there seated themselves at the most remote of the small tables. "Well," said Morrell cheerfully, after preliminary small talk had been disposed of, "how goes the fair Nancy?" Sansome's effeminately handsome face darkened. Things had in reality gone very badly with the fair Nancy. Her revulsion against Sansome at the time of the capture of the jail had been complete; and as is the case with real revulsions, she had not attempted to conceal it. Sansome's careful structure, which had gained so lofty an elevation, had collapsed like the proverbial house of cards. His vanity had been cruelly rasped. And what had been more or less merely a dilettante's attraction had been thereby changed into a thwarted passion. "Damn the fair Nancy!" he cried, in answer to Morrell's question. Morrell's eyes narrowed, and he motioned quietly to the waiting black to replenish the glasses. "With all my heart, damn her!" said he. "I agree with you; she's a snippy, cold little piece. Not my style at all. Not worth the serious attention of a man like yourself. Who is it now, you sly dog?" Sansome sipped at his drink; sighed sentimentally. "Cold--yes--but if the right man could awaken her--" he murmured. "Look here, Sansome, do you want that woman?" Sansome looked at his companion haughtily; his eye fell; he drew circles with the bottom of his glass. "By gad!" he cried with a sudden queer burst of fire; "I've got to have her!" And then he turned slowly red, actually started to wriggle, concealed his embarrassment under cover of his cigar. "H'm," observed Morrell speculatively, without looking across at Sansome. "Tell me, Ben, does she still care for her husband?" "No; that I'll swear!" replied Sansome eagerly. "If you're sure of that one essential little fact, and you really want her, why don't you take her?" "Damn it, ain't I telling you? She won't see me." "Tell me about it," urged Morrell, settling back, and again motioning for fresh drinks. Sansome, whose soul was ripe for sympathy, needed little more urging. He poured out his tale, sometimes rushingly and passionately, again, as his submerged but still conventional self-consciousness straggled to the surface, with shamefaced bravado. "By Gad!" he finished. "You know, I feel like a raw schoolboy, talkin' like this!"