And it seemed to him that he could only
retain a remnant of his self-respect by doing something that would
reinstate him in her opinion.

"Very well," said the Major, at the close of the last of their talks at
the club; "what are you going to do?"

"I'm going into some business," said Jack, stiffly.

"Have you spoken to any of your friends?"

"No. It's no use," he said, bitterly; "they are all like me, or they
know me."

"And hasn't your wife some relations who are in business?"

"The last people I should apply to. No. I'm going to look around. Major,
do you happen to know a cheap lodging-house that is respectable?"

"I don't know any that is not respectable," the Major replied, in a
huffy manner.

"I beg your pardon," said Jack. "I want to reduce expenses."

The Major did know of a place in the neighborhood where he lived. He
gave Jack the address, and thereafter the club and his usual resorts
knew him no more.

As the days went by and nothing happened to break the monotony of his
waiting and his fruitless search, he became despondent. Day after day
he tramped about the city, among the business portions, and often on
the East Side, to see misery worse than his own. He had saved out of the
wreck his ample wardrobe, his watch, and some jewelry, and upon these he
raised money for his cheap lodgings and his cheap food. He grew careless
of his personal appearance. Every morning he rose and went about the
city, always with less hope, and every night he returned to his lodging,
but not always sober.

One day he read the announcement that Mrs. Rodney Henderson and Miss
Tavish had sailed for Europe. That ended that chapter. What exactly
he had expected he could not say. Help from Carmen? Certainly not. But
there had never been a sign from her, nor any word from Mavick lately.
There evidently was nothing. He had been thrown over. Carmen evidently
had no more use for him. She had other plans. The thought that he had
been used and duped was almost more bitter than his loss.

In after-days Jack looked back upon this time with a feeling akin to
thankfulness for Carmen's utter heartlessness in regard to his affairs.
He trembled to think what might have happened to him if she had sent for
him and consulted him and drawn him again into the fatal embrace of her
schemes and her fascinations. Now he was simply enraged when he thought
of her, and irritated with himself.

These were dark days, days to which he looked back w