omewhat timidly. When, however, he turned and
glanced around among the hurrying throng that filled the street, he saw
no one whom he knew. Men and women were bustling along with that
ceaseless haste that always struck him in New York--haste to go, haste
to return, haste to hasten: the trade-mark of New York life: the hope of
outstripping in the race.

A moment later he was conscious of a woman's step close behind him. He
turned as the woman came up beside him, and faced--Phrony Tripper. She
was so worn and bedraggled and aged that for a moment he did not
recognize her. Then, as she spoke, he knew her.

"Why, Phrony!" He held out his hand. She seized it almost hungrily.

"Oh, Mr. Keith! Is it really you? I hardly dared hope it was. I have not
seen any one I knew for so long--so long!" Her face worked, and she
began to whimper; but Keith soothed her.

He drew her away from the crowded thoroughfare into a side street.

"You knew--?" she said, and gazed at him with a silent appeal.

"Yes, I knew. He deceived you and deluded you into running away with
him."

"I thought he loved me, and he did when he married me. I am sure he did.
But when he met that lady--"

"When he did what?" asked Keith, who could scarcely believe his own
ears. "Did he marry you? Ferdy Wickersham? Who married you? When? Where
was it? Who was present?"

"Yes; I would not come until he promised--"

"Yes, I knew he would promise. But did he marry you afterwards? Who was
present? Have you any witnesses?"

"Yes. Oh, yes. I was married here in New York--one night--about ten
o'clock--the night we got here. Mr. Plume was our only witness. Mr.
Plume had a paper the preacher gave him; but he lost it."

"He did! Who married you? Where was it?"

"His name was Rimm--Rimm-something--I cannot remember much; my memory is
all gone. He was a young man. He married us in his room. Mr. Plume got
him for me. He offered to marry us himself--said he was a preacher; but
I wouldn't have him, and said I would go home or kill myself if they
didn't have a preacher. Then Mr. Plume went and came back, and we all
got in a carriage and drove a little way, and got out and went into a
house, and after some talk we were married. I don't know the street. But
I would know him if I saw him. He was a young, fat man, that smiled and
stood on his toes." The picture brought up to Keith the fat and
unctuous Rimmon.

"Well, then you went abroad, and your husband left you over there