t
_like_ that _girl_! To fly in the face of the Supreme Court of the
State, and all the laws of sport as well! Jack, I was keeping count,"
she held out her ivory tablets. "You'd have beaten him sure, and I
wanted to see you do it. You were one ahead, and would have made it
better in the next twenty-five. Oh, won't I talk to that girl when I see
her!"

"So that was Ellen!" I said to Kitty.

"The very same. Now you've seen her. What you think I don't know, but
what she thinks of you is pretty evident."

"You were right, Mrs. Kitty," said I. "She's desperately good looking.
But that isn't the girl I danced with last night. In the name of
Providence, let me get away from this country, for I know not what may
happen to me! No man is safe in this neighborhood of beauties."

"Let's all go home and get a bite to eat," said Stevenson, with much
common sense. "You've got glory enough just the way it stands."

So that was Ellen! And it moreover was none less than Ellen Meriwether,
daughter of my father's friend and business associate, whom I had
traveled thus far to see, and whom, as I now determined, I must meet at
the very first possible opportunity. Perhaps, then, it might very
naturally come about that--but I dismissed this very rational
supposition as swiftly as I was able.

CHAPTER XI

THE MORNING AFTER

Events had somewhat hurried me in the two days since my arrival at
Jefferson Barracks, but on the morning following the awkward ending of
my match with Orme I had both opportunity and occasion to take stock of
myself and of my plans. The mails brought me two letters, posted at
Wallingford soon after my departure; one from Grace Sheraton and one
from my mother. The first one was--what shall I say? Better perhaps that
I should say nothing, save that it was like Grace Sheraton herself,
formal, correct and cold. It was the first written word I had ever
received from my fiancee, and I had expected--I do not know what. At
least I had thought to be warmed, comforted, consoled in these times of
my adversity. It seemed to my judgment, perhaps warped by sudden
misfortune, that possibly my fiancee regretted her hasty promise, rued
an engagement to one whose affairs had suddenly taken an attitude of so
little promise. I was a poor man now, and worse than poor, because
lately I had been rich, as things went in my surroundings. In this
letter, I say, I had expected--I do not know what. But certainly I had
not expected t