sides, was
dividing his time between his convalescent friend and the gayeties
of early winter. He dined and danced almost without ceasing; and, in
the intervals of his dining and dancing, he told over to Weldon all
the details of his social career. And these details largely
concerned themselves with Ethel Dent: how she looked, what she wore,
what she said, with whom she danced and with whom she sat it out.
And, as he listened, Weldon made up his mind that, for him, the time
for resting at home was ended. It was better, easier to go to see
for himself than it was to sit at home and imagine things, or to
hear about them, after they had happened. There was to be a
reception at the Citadel, next week. He would begin with that.

One resolution led to the next. Only two days after he had
determined upon the reception, he ordered Kruger Bobs to saddle the
gray broncho and to attend him upon The Nig. Then, when the noon sun
lay warm over the city, he mounted and, with Kruger Bobs behind him,
he rode slowly down Adderley Street to the water front, and turned
eastward to the home of the Dents.

The wide veranda and the great white pillars seemed like home to
him, in all truth. That house had been the scene of some of his best
hours, as of his worst ones, and his heart pounded madly against his
ribs as he caught sight of its familiar outlines. Then he drew in
his breath sharply and bore down hard in his stirrups, while his
face went white to the lips. From the western end of the veranda a
girlish figure had risen, halted for a moment with the sun beating
full upon her vivid hair; then, heedless of the distant riders, it
had turned and disappeared within the doorway.

The maid's face brightened, as she met Weldon at the door. "But Mrs.
Dent is not at home," she said, with honest regret in her voice.
"She has gone out of town."

Weldon controlled his own voice as best he might.

"And Miss Dent?" he asked.

However, the maid had just broken the Baden-Powell tea-cup. Its
fragments were still upon the floor, and she had no mind, just then,
to face her young mistress.

"Miss Dent is not at home," she answered, with glib mendacity. And
then she wondered why it was that Weldon's pallor turned from white
to gray, as he went away down the steps.

Nevertheless, he fulfilled his resolution of going to the reception
at the Citadel. For one reason, he had given his word to Carew.
Moreover, he felt that, for the honor of his manhood,