married his lapses
had been infrequent, and already his surroundings were becoming a bit
vague. His one ambition was to appear what he was not--sober; and he
straightened himself stiffly.

"I see," he said, "sorry to lose you, old pal, very sorry; but what must
be must be, I s'pose," and he drew himself together with a jerk.

Sidwell glanced at the speaker sarcastically, almost with a shade of
contempt. "I know you're sorry, deucedly sorry," he mocked. "So sorry
that you'd probably like to drown your excess of emotion in the flowing
bowl." Again the ironic glance swept the other's face. "Another smile
would be good for you, anyway. You're entirely too serious. Here you
are!" and the decanter once more did service.

Hough picked up his glass and nodded with gravity "Yes, I always was a
sad devil." By successive movements the liquor approached his lips.
"Lots of troubles and tribulations all my--"

The sentence was not completed; the Cognac remained untasted. At that
moment there was a knock upon the door.

CHAPTER XXIII

THE BACK-FIRE

When Ben Blair left the Baker home he went back to his room at the
hotel, closed and locked the door, and, throwing off coat and hat,
stretched himself full-length upon the floor, gazing up at the ceiling
but seeing nothing. It had been a hard fight for self-control there on
the prairie the day Florence rejected him, but it was as nothing to the
tumult that now raged in his brain. Then, despite his pain, hope had
remained. Now hope was lost, and in its place stood a maddening
might-have-been. Under the compulsion of his will, the white flood of
anger had passed, but it only made more difficult the solution of the
problem confronting him. Under the influence of passion the situation
would have been a mere physical proposition; but with opportunity to
think, another's wishes and another's rights--those of the woman he
loved--challenged him at every turn.

At first it seemed that a removal of his physical presence, a going away
never to return, was adequate solution of the difficulty; but he soon
realized that it was not. Deeper than his own love was his desire for
the happiness of the girl he had known from childhood. Had he been
certain that she would be happy with the man who had fascinated her, he
could have conquered self, could have returned to his prairies, his
cattle, his work, and have concealed his hurt. But it was impossible for
him to believe she would be happy.