The episode threw a shadow over his whole visit. On Sunday he went out into the country and tramped through a snowstorm by himself, filled with a sense of disgust for all the past, and of foreboding for the future. He hated this money-world, in which all that was worst in human beings was brought to the surface; he hated it, and wished that he had never set foot within its bounds. It was only by tramping until he was too tired to feel anything that he was able to master himself. And then, toward dark, he came back, and found a telegram which had been forwarded from New York. “Meet me at the Penna depot, Jersey City, at nine to-night. Alice.” This message, of course, drove all other thoughts from his mind. He had no time even to tell Oliver about it—he had to jump into an automobile and rush to catch the next train for the city. And all through the long, cold ride in ferry-boats and cabs he pondered this mystery. Alice’s party had not been expected for two weeks yet; and only two days before there had come a letter from Los Angeles, saying that they would probably be a week over time. And here she was home again! He found there was an express from the West due at the hour named; apparently, therefore, Alice had not come in the Prentice’s train at all. The express was half an hour late, and so he paced up and down the platform, controlling his impatience as best he could. And finally the long train pulled in, and he saw Alice coming down the platform. She was alone! “What does it mean?” were the first words he said to her. “It’s a long story,” she answered. “I wanted to come home.”; “You mean you’ve come all the way from the coast by yourself!” he gasped. “Yes,” she said, “all the way.” “What in the world—” he began. “I can’t tell you here, Allan,” she said. “Wait till we get to some quiet place.” “But,” he persisted. “The Prentice? They let you come home alone?” “They didn’t know it,” she said. “I ran away.” He was more bewildered than ever. But as he started to ask more questions, she laid a hand upon his arm. “Please wait, Allan,” she said. “It upsets me to talk about it. It was Charlie Carter.” And so the light broke. He caught his breath and gasped, “Oh!” He said not another word until they had crossed the ferry and settled themselves in a cab, and started. “Now,” he said, “tell me.” Alice began. “I was very much upset,” she said. “But you must understand, Allan, that I’ve had nearly a week to think it over, and I don’t mind it now. So I want you please not to get excited about it; it wasn’t poor Charlie’s fault—he can’t help himself. It was my mistake. I ought to have taken your advice and had nothing to do with him.” “Go on,” said he; and Alice told her story.