d all day. I never dreamed that it was this part
of the country where he was supposed to have been drowned, or I wouldn't
have come here."

"Well, what does it matter, anyway?" returned the man. "I don't see that
it can make any difference. We don't need to go down there where he is,
and it is damned certain that they won't call on us."

Looking out over the river, the woman spoke as if thinking aloud: "This
is just the sort of place he would love, Harry--the river and hills and
woods. He never cared for the city--always wanted to get away into
the country somewhere. Tell me, what is she really like? Does she look
like--like--well,--like any of our crowd?"

One by one, the man picked a number of pebbles from among the dead
leaves and the short grass within reach of his hand, as he answered:
"Oh, I was just kidding when I raved about her to the bunch." One by
one, he flipped the bits of stone into the water. "She really doesn't
amount to much. Honestly, I hardly noticed her."

The woman continued speaking as though thinking her thoughts aloud:
"Brian was a good man, Harry. That bank affair was really my fault. He
never would have done such a thing if I hadn't devilled him all the time
for more money, and made such a fuss about his wasting so much time in
his everlasting writing. I'd hate to have him caught and sent to the
'pen' now."

"You're a good sport, Martha," he returned heartily. "I know just how
you feel about it. And I can promise you that there is not one of our
crowd that will ever whisper a thing. They are not that kind, and you
know how they all like you. Come, dear. Don't bother your head about it
any more. I don't like to see you like this. Let us go up to the house,
and show them how game you are,--shall we?"

He put his arm about her, but the woman gently pushed him away. "Don't
do that, now, Harry. Let me think."

"That is just what you must not do," he retorted, with a laugh.
"Thinking can't help matters. Come, let us go get a drink. That is what
you need."

She looked at him some time before she answered; then, with a quick
movement, she sprang to her feet:

"All right! You're on!" she cried, with a reckless laugh. "But you'll go
some if you keep up with me to-night."

And so, that evening, while Brian Kent and Betty Jo from the porch of
the little log house by the river watched the twinkling lights of the
clubhouse windows, the party with mad merriment tried to help a woman to
forget.