blossoms all growing around. And
then----"

"Think again. Say, your taste's just--cheap. But we're talking of
Mrs. Van Blooren."

"I'm sorry. Why, I guess she's daughter to the Carruthers's. John D.
Carruthers. He was principal at St. Bude's College. Pensioned. Guess
it's five years since she handed us boys the G. B. and hooked up with a
white-gilled hoodlum from down East. He got around here with a wad
he'd raised from his father. Can't say who his father was. Folks
guessed he was some millionaire. I don't just know the rights of it.
Anyway, he left her well enough fixed. Gee! Fancy a feller acting
that way--dying, with a wife like that. Wonder what sort of mush he
kept in his thinking depot? I'd say folks with sense have to live on
the chances fools can't just kick to death. Anyway, seeing she's
started right in to set her wings rustling again I guess some feller
with hoss sense'll be getting busy. They'd make a swell couple," he
added with a grin. "Jeff's a good-looker."

Nan nodded.

But she made no answer. Had the man been less concerned with his
match-making suggestions he must have observed the effect of his
careless words. Nan had paled under the pretty tanning of her rounded
cheeks. She was hurt, hurt beyond words, and though she could
willingly have cried out she was forced to smother her feelings. The
panic of the moment passed, however, and, with a great effort, she was
able to give her suggestion its proper value. But somehow, for the
rest of the ride, it seemed to her that the sun was less bright, the
wind even had become chilly, and altogether there was a curious,
enervating world-weariness hanging over everything.

By the time they reached the race-track she felt in her simple heart
she ought to apologize for having spoiled her escort's ride. But the
inclination was only the result of her depression. She even told
herself, with a gleam of humor, that if she attempted it she would have
to burst into tears.

However, the later excitement of the racing helped to revive Nan's
drooping spirits. The scene was irresistible. The atmosphere. The
happy buoyant enjoyment on every side could not long be denied whatever
the troubles awaiting more sober moments. There were the sleek and
glossy horses. There were the brilliant colors of the jockey's silks.
There was the babel of excited voices, the shouting as the horses
rushed down the picturesque "straight." Then the betting.