bar seemed interested when they came in.
Two of them put down their glasses and turned to fix their eyes on
Jernyngham, a third paused in the act of lighting his pipe and dropped
the match. Then the owner of the livery-stable looked up in a hesitating
manner as Jernyngham approached him.

"I believe you have a message for me," Jernyngham said abruptly.

"That's so," the man rejoined gravely. "I'll give it to you outside."

They left the bar, and when they stood under the veranda, Jernyngham tore
open the envelope handed him. A moment later he firmly crumpled up the
note it had held.

"When did she leave?" he asked in a harsh voice.

The liveryman regarded him sympathetically.

"By the afternoon East-bound. I'm mighty sorry, Cyril--guess you know it
isn't a secret in the town."

Jernyngham's face grew darkly flushed.

"Then you can tell me whom she went with?"

"The drummer who was selling the separators. Bought tickets through to
St. Paul. Told Perkins he wasn't coming back here; nothing doing on this
round."

The man tactfully moved away and Jernyngham turned to Prescott, speaking
rather hoarsely.

"She's gone--that's the end of it!"

He dropped into one of the chairs scattered about and a few moments later
broke into a bitter laugh.

"It would have been more flattering if she had chosen you or Wandle
instead of that blasted weedy drummer. Still, there the thing is, and it
has to be faced." Then he surprised his companion, for his voice and
expression became suddenly normal. "Go in and get me a cigar."

He lighted it carefully when it was brought to him and leaned back in his
chair.

"Jack," he said, "I've got to hold myself in hand--if I start off on the
jag now, it will be a dangerous one. Have you noticed that I've been
practising strict abstinence since Colston left?"

Prescott, not knowing how to regard his ironic calmness, said nothing,
and Jernyngham continued:

"It's a bitter pill. I was very fond of her once, and there's not much
consolation in reflecting that she'll probably scare the fellow out of
his wits the first time she breaks out in one of her rages." Then his
voice grew regretful. "Ellice's far from perfect, but she's much too good
for him."

Remembering that it was on the woman's account his friend had remained on
the prairie, Prescott made a venture:

"Since she has gone, it's a pity she didn't go a few weeks earlier."

"That doesn't count," declared Jernyngham. "She has ca