aughed at him!

She had risen to her feet; there had come for an instant a flash like
that of fire in her eyes; her voice trembled a little when she spoke.
There was resentment in the poise of her white shoulders as Ransom's
voice came to them in a loud laugh from behind the palms; her red lips
showed disdain and anger. She hated Ransom for breaking in; she
despised Philip for allowing the interruption to tear away her triumph.
Her own betrayal of herself was like tonic to Philip. He laughed
joyously when he was alone out in the cool night air. Ransom never knew
why Philip hunted him out and shook his fat hand so warmly at parting.

Philip again felt himself in the fever of that night as he turned from
the rock and began picking his way down the side of the ridge toward
the Bay. He found himself wondering what had become of good-natured,
dense-headed Ransom, who had all he could do to spend his father's
allowance. From Ransom his thoughts turned to little Harry Dell,
Roscoe, big Dan Philips, and three or four others who had sacrificed
their hearts at Miss Brokaw's feet. He grimaced as he thought of young
Dell, who had worshiped the ground she walked on, and who had gone
straight to the devil when she threw him over. He wondered, too, where
Roscoe was. He knew that Roscoe would have won out if it had not been
for the financial crash which took his brokerage firm off its feet and
left him a pauper. He had heard that Roscoe had gone up into British
Columbia to recuperate his fortune in Douglas fir. As for big Dan--

Philip stumbled over a rock, and rose with a bruised knee. The shock
brought him back to realities, and a few moments later he stood upon
the narrow boulder-strewn beach, rubbing his knee and calling himself a
fool for allowing the old thoughts to stir him up. Out there,
somewhere, Brokaw and his daughter were coming. That Miss Brokaw was
with her father was a circumstance which was of no importance to him.
At least he told himself so, and set his face toward Churchill.

To-night the stars and the moon seemed to be more than usually
brilliant. About him the great masses of rock, the tumbling surf, the
edge of the forest, and the Bay itself were illumined as if by the
light of a softly radiant day. He looked at his watch and found that it
was past midnight. He had been up since dawn, and yet he felt no touch
of fatigue, no need of sleep. He took off his cap and walked bareheaded
in the mellow light, his mocca