first. That was _bully_ of you!
Give my very best congratulations to Mr. Ver Plank and tell him I
think he's a very lucky fellow.

Faithfully yours,
JACK.

He had resolved to sign formally "Cordially yours--John H. Stover."
But toward the end his resolution weakened. He would be faithful, even
if she were not. Perhaps, when she read it and thought it over she
would feel a little remorse, a little acute sorrow. Imbued with the
thought, he stood looking at the letter, which somehow brought a
little consolation, a little pride into the night of his misery. It
was a good letter--a very good letter. He read it over three times and
then, going to the washstand, took up the sponge and pressed out a
lachrymal drop that fell directly over the "Faithfully yours."

It made a blot that no one could have looked at unmoved.

He hastily sealed the letter and slipping out the house, went over and
mailed it with his own hands. It was the farewell--he would never toil
out his heart over another. And with it went John Stover, the faithful
cavalier. Another John Stover had arisen, the man of heroic sorrows.

For a whole week faithfully he was true to his grief, keeping his own
company, eating out his heart, suffering as only that first deception
can inflict sorrow. And he sought nothing else. He hoped--he hoped
that he would go on suffering for years and years, saddened and
deceived.

But, somehow--though, of course, deep down within him nothing would
ever change--the gloom gradually lifted. The call of his fellows began
to be heard again. The glances of the under formers that followed his
public appearances with adoring worship began to please him once more.

Finally, one afternoon, he stopped in at Appleby's to inspect a new
supply of dazzling cravats.

"You've got the first choice, Mr. Stover," said Appleby in his
caressing way. "No one's had a look at them before you."

"Well, let's look 'em over," said Stover, with a beginning of
interest.

"Look at them," said Appleby; "you're a judge, Mr. Stover. You know
how to dress in a tasty way. Now, really, have you ever seen anything
genteeler than them?"

Stover fingered them and his eye lit up. They certainly were
exceptional and just the style that was becoming to his blond
advantages. He selected six, then added two more and, finally, went to
his room with a dozen, where he tried them, one after the other,
before his mirror, smiling a little at the effect.