he courage to tell him.

Scarborough was in Pierson's room. He lowered the paper from in front
of his face after a few minutes.

"I see Pauline has married and gone abroad," he said.

"Yes, so I heard from Olivia," replied Pierson, avoiding Scarborough's
eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me?" continued Scarborough, tranquil so far as
Pierson could judge. "I'd have liked to send her a note."

Pierson was silent.

"I thought it would cut him horribly," he was thinking. "And he's
taking it as if he had only a friendly interest." Scarborough's face
was again behind the newspaper. When he had finished it he sauntered
toward the door. He paused there to glance idly at the titles of the
top row in the book-case. Pierson was watching him. "No--it's all
right," he concluded. Scarborough was too straight and calm just to
have received such a blow as that news would have been had HE cared for
Pauline. Pierson liked his look better than ever before--the tall,
powerful figure; the fair hair growing above his wide and lofty brow,
with the one defiant lock; and in his aquiline nose and blue-gray eyes
and almost perfect mouth and chin the stamp of one who would move
forward irresistibly, moving others to his will.

"How old are you, Scarborough?" he asked.

"Twenty-three-nearly twenty-four. I ought to be ashamed to be only a
freshman, oughtn't I?" He shrugged his shoulders. "I'm tired of it
all." And he strolled out.

He avoided Pierson and Olivia and all his friends for several days,
went much into the woods alone, took long walks at night. Olivia would
have it that he had been hard hit, and almost convinced Pierson.

"He's the sort of person that suffers the most," she said. "I've a
brother like him--won't have sympathy, keeps a wound covered up so that
it can't heal."

"But what shall I do for him?" asked Pierson.

"Don't do anything--he'd hate you if you did."

After a week or ten days he called on Pierson and, seating himself at
the table, began to shuffle a pack of cards. He looked tired.

"I never saw cards until I was fifteen," he said.

"At home they thought them one of the devil's worst devices--we had a
real devil in our house."

"So did we," said Pierson.

"But not a rip-snorter like ours--they don't have him in cities, or
even in towns, any more. I've seen ours lots of times after the lights
were out--saw him long after I'd convinced myself in daylight that he
didn't exist. But I never saw him