his arms and compel her
to feel, and to yield to, his strength and his love. But he, realizing
that he was in danger of losing his self-control, released her hand and
drew away--to burn aloof, when he might have set her on fire.

Ross Whitney found his cousin, Ernest Belden, in the Chicago express
next morning. When they were well on their way, Belden said: "I'm really
sorry it's all off between you and Adelaide, Ross."

Ross was silent, struggling against curiosity. Finally curiosity won.
"How did you know, Ernest?" he asked.

"On the way to the station I met Dory Hargrave looking like a sunrise. I
asked him what was up--you know, he and I are like brothers. And he said:
'I've induced Adelaide Ranger to promise to marry me.' 'Why, I never knew
_you_ cared about her in that way,' said I. And he said: 'There's lots of
things in this world you don't know, Ernest, a lot of _important_ things,
and this is one of 'em. I've never cared about anybody else.'"

Belden had been thinking that the engagement between Ross and Adelaide
was dissolved by mutual consent. A glance at Ross and he changed his
mind; for, Ross was so amazed at Adelaide's thus challenging him--it
could be nothing more than an audacious challenge--that he showed it. "I
beg your pardon, old man," Belden said impulsively. "I didn't appreciate
that I was making a prying brute of myself."

Ross decided that a "gentleman" would be silent under the suspicion of
having been jilted, and that therefore _he_ must be silent--on that
subject. "Not at all," said he. "I suppose you haven't heard yet that I'm
engaged to Miss Howland, of Chicago."

"Ah--Really--I congratulate you," said Belden.

And Ross, seeing that his cousin understood precisely what he had
intended he should, felt meaner than ever.

CHAPTER IX

THE LONG FAREWELL

Not until Adelaide told Arthur and saw the expression that succeeded his
first blank stare of incredulity did she realize what the world, her
"world," would think of her engagement to Theodore Hargrave. It was
illuminative of her real character and of her real mind as to Ross, and
as to Dory also, that, instead of being crushed by her brother's look of
downright horror, she straightway ejected the snobbish suggestions with
which her vanity had been taunting her, and called her heart, as well as
her pride, to the defense of Dory.

"You're joking," said Arthur, when he was able to articulate; "and a
mighty poor joke it is. Dory