Very reverently Leigh laid the chemist’s package on a chair near the door. Then he saw a small glove lying on the floor. He picked it up, kissed it solemnly, and thrust it into his pocket. The illusion was complete--he bore his lady’s glove. * * * * * Aristide Corwin was alone in his room at the inn. It happened that his open windows commanded a clear view of Mr. Carter’s office opposite, and of the sign over the door--“Johnson Carter, Insurance and Loans.” Corwin had been staring at it moodily. He hated it for some reason. Not that he thought much of the Carters. His business was with Fanchon, not with William Carter. But he hated that office, and he hated the whole tribe, at the moment, because Fanchon had outwitted him. She had made a fool of him. He had had his revenge, he was making the town ring with his talk, but he was not even with her yet--not yet! His eyes kindled fiercely at the thought of her. He had been drinking. Two bottles still stood on his table, and his glass was full. He was a man who had been handsome in his first youth, but his face had coarsened and his hard eyes lowered. He rose, stripped off his coat, and sat down again in his shirt-sleeves, his collar unbuttoned from his big throat. He was hot, but he kept on drinking. It was late now, near supper-time, and there came a knock at his door. “Come in!” he said harshly. The door opened, and Leigh Carter entered. Corwin did not know him, he did not remember having seen him with Fanchon, but he saw a slender boy of seventeen or eighteen, well-dressed and deathly pale, with the eyes of a girl. “What do you want, kid?” he demanded sharply, setting down his glass. Leigh walked straight across the room to the table and stood looking down at him, an image of young scorn and wrath. “I’m Leigh Carter,” he said, breathing quickly. “I’ve heard the infamous story you’re telling about a lady--my sister-in-law, Mrs. William Carter--a story that she ran away with you last night. I’m here to demand the truth. Did you--did you dare to tell such a story here?” Corwin’s first stare of surprise gave way to a slow, insulting grin. He measured Leigh from head to foot. Then he laughed. “Yes,” he replied truculently. “I did say that--and a damned sight more, Mr. Leigh Carter--kid. And it’s every bit true!” Leigh’s hands shook as he grasped the edge of the table. “You’ll take that back, Mr. Corwin,” he said in a low voice, leaning forward and looking at the man opposite. Corwin laughed, tilting his chair and putting his feet on the table. His very nonchalance stung the boy opposite with a fresh sense of insult. “Will I?” he mocked. “Who’s going to make me do it?” Leigh, white with passion now, flashed scorn upon him. “I will! You can’t say things like that about my brother’s wife!” Corwin stared at him, still laughing; then he lowered his feet to the floor and rose. Standing, he overtopped the slender Carter boy by half a head.