ngaged, but when it
came to being married I was scared to death and couldn't lift my voice
above a whisper. Since then it has been rather a bore. Now my husband has
been called to London. I am living alone here in this hotel. That is, more
or less alone. A frightful lot of people come around and bore me, and I
have to go out a good deal. I'm supposed to be looking for an apartment,
too; but I haven't really started yet. Ralph won't be back for another two
or three weeks, so I have plenty of time.

"I don't know why in the world I'm writing you this long frightfully
intimate letter. I don't seem to know why I do anything these days. I know
its most improper for a respectable married lady, and I certainly have no
reason to suppose you want to be bothered by me any more after the way I
did. But somehow you stick in the back of my head. You might write me a
line, just out of compassion, if you're not too busy with all your sheep
and mountains and things." She signed herself "as ever", which, he
reflected bitterly, might mean anything.

At first the fact that she was married wholly engaged his attention. She
was then finally and forever beyond his reach. This was the end sure
enough. He was not going to start any long aimless correspondence with her
to keep alive the memory of his disappointment. He planned various brief
and chilly notes of congratulation.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} Then another thought took precedence
over that one. She was alone there in that hotel. Her husband was in
London. She had written to him and given him her address.{~HORIZONTAL ELLIPSIS~} His blood
pounded and his breath came quick. He made his decision instantly, on
impulse. He would go to New York.

He wired the hotel where she was stopping for a reservation, but sent no
word at all to her. He gave the bewildered and troubled Cortez brief
orders by telephone to go to Arriba County in his place, arranged a note
at the bank for two thousand dollars, and caught the limited the same
night at seven-thirty-five.

CHAPTER XXXII

He looked at New York through a taxicab window without much interest. A
large damp grey dirty place, very crowded, where he would not like to
live, he thought. He managed himself and his baggage with ease and
dispatch; his indifferent, dignified manner and his reckless use of money
were ideally effective with porters, taxi drivers and the like. When he
reached the hotel about eight o'cloc