mems, and dies. There's folks ez sez she gave it to him, but it's
Fate. A year after that I married her,--Fate, Tommy, Fate!

"I lived with her jest three months," he went on, after a long
breath,--"three months! It ain't much time for a happy man. I've seen
a good deal o' hard life in my day, but there was days in that three
months longer than any day in my life,--days, Tommy, when it was a
toss-up whether I should kill her or she me. But thar, I'm done. You are
a young man, Tommy, and I ain't goin' to tell things thet, old as I am,
three years ago I couldn't have believed."

When at last, with his grim face turned toward the window, he sat
silently with his clinched hands on his knees before him, Islington
asked where his wife was now.

"Ask me no more, my boy,--no more. I've said my say." With a gesture as
of throwing down a pair of reins before him, he rose, and walked to the
window.

"You kin understand, Tommy, why a little trip around the world 'ud do me
good. Ef you can't go with me, well and good. But go I must."

"Not before luncheon, I hope," said a very sweet voice, as Blanche
Masterman suddenly stood before them. "Father would never forgive me if
in his absence I permitted one of Mr. Islington's friends to go in this
way. You will stay, won't you? Do! And you will give me your arm now;
and when Mr. Islington has done staring, he will follow us into the
dining-room and introduce you."

"I have quite fallen in love with your friend," said Miss Blanche, as
they stood in the drawing-room looking at the figure of Bill, strolling,
with his short pipe in his mouth, through the distant shrubbery. "He
asks very queer questions, though. He wanted to know my mother's maiden
name."

"He is an honest fellow," said Islington, gravely.

"You are very much subdued. You don't thank me, I dare say, for keeping
you and your friend here; but you couldn't go, you know, until father
returned."

Islington smiled, but not very gayly.

"And then I think it much better for us to part here under these
frescos, don't you? Good by."

She extended her long, slim hand.

"Out in the sunlight there, when my eyes were red, you were very anxious
to look at me," she added, in a dangerous voice.

Islington raised his sad eyes to hers. Something glittering upon her own
sweet lashes trembled and fell.

"Blanche!"

She was rosy enough now, and would have withdrawn her hand, but
Islington detained it. She was not quite certain