s is the last time you and I
will ever get--this way together."

Hough looked as solemn as though at a funeral. "Why so?" he protested.
"Are you angry with me yet?"

"No, it's not that. I've forgiven you."

"What is it, then?" Hough felt that he must know the reason of his lost
position, and if in his power remove it.

"I'm going to quit drinking after to-night, for one thing," explained
Sidwell. "It isn't adequate. But even if I didn't, I don't expect we'll
ever be together again after a few days, after you go away."

The listener looked blank. Even with his muddled brains he had an
intimation that there was more in the statement than there seemed.

"I don't see why," he said bewilderedly.

Again Sidwell leaned forward. Again his face grew passionate and
magnetic.

"The reason why is this. I have had enough, and more than enough, of
this life I've been living. Unless I can find an interest, an
extenuation, I would rather be dead, a hundred times over. I've become a
nightmare to myself, and I won't stand it. In a few days you'll have
departed, and before you return I'll probably have gone too. Nothing but
an intervention of Providence can prevent my marrying Florence Baker
now. Life isn't a story-book or we who live it undiscerning clods. She
knows I am going to ask her to marry me, and I know what her answer
will be. We'll be away on our wedding-trip long before you and Elise
return in the Fall." The speaker's voice was sober. Only the heightened
color of his face betrayed him.

"I say I'm through with this sort of thing," he repeated, "and I mean
it. I've tried everything on the face of the earth to find an
interest--but one--and Florence Baker represents that one. I hope
against hope that I'll find what I'm searching for there, but I am
skeptical. I have been disappointed too many times to expect happiness
now. This is my last trump, old man, and I'm playing it deliberately and
carefully. If it fails, Florence will probably return; but before God, I
never will! I have thought it all out. I will leave her more money than
she can ever spend--enough if she wishes to buy the elect of the elect.
She is young, and she will soon forget--if it's necessary. With me, my
actions have largely ceased to be a matter of ethics. I am desperate,
Hough, and a desperate man takes what presents itself."

But Hough was in no condition to appreciate the meaning of the selfish
revelation of his friend's true character. Since he