would be
folly to pursue by later train, because Peter, as was customary with
that young philanderer, had neglected to leave his forwarding address.

But Eileen never reached the train. The engine screamed scornfully
when she was less than a block distant. The red and green tail-lights
were dwindling away along the throbbing rails when she arrived at the
station.

The night had swallowed up her love and her high hopes. Before long,
miles, and thousands of miles, would soon stretch between her and her
lover.

With a broken sob she wilted upon the station steps, while the
sophomore stood awkwardly above her, bursting with questions,
misty-eyed with youthful sympathy and fidgeting in acute discomfort.

And thus was Peter the Brazen swept out of her life and into his next
adventure.

CHAPTER XVIII

At about five o'clock the next afternoon Peter, in his hotel bedroom,
called for a pitcher of ice-water, the major portion of which he
disposed of before considering the next move.

Afternoon sunlight, entering by the single large window, mapped out a
radiant oblong of red on the heavy carpet. The long, insolent shriek
of a taxicab arose from the square. The bedroom was redolent of the
sour odor of last night's cigarette smoke. He had forgotten, for
perhaps the first time in his memory, to throw open the window upon
retiring. As he arose stiffly from the bed an empty brown bottle
bounded to the floor with a thump, and the latter riotous portion of
last evening came slowly back to him. He had decided to do something.
What had he made up his mind to do? He sat down on the edge of the bed
with his head in his hands and frowned. He remembered now.

He was going back to China!

With a throbbing head and a recurrence of the sticky feeling in his
mouth, he stripped off his pajamas, went into the bath-room, and
shivered and grunted under an icy shower for five minutes, by which
time some of the despondency which last night's affair had brought over
him was shaken, his headache was loosened a bit, his wits were more
clearly in hand, and the warm blood was shooting through him.

After a brisk rub-down he dressed quickly--he had barely had time
enough to recover his suit-cases from the San Friole baggage-room when
he had fled--and put in a call for the Marconi office.

Shortly he had the chief operator on the wire, and he explained briefly
that out-of-town business had interfered with his calling the day
befor