.

"Dick," said Dorothy, when Harlan came to the door, "this is my husband.
Mr. Chester, Mr. Carr."

For days Harlan had not seen Dorothy with such rosy cheeks, such dancing
eyes, nor half as many dimples. Bewildered, and not altogether pleased, he
awkwardly extended his hand to Mr. Chester, with a conventional "how do
you do?"

Dick wrung the offered hand in a mighty grip which made Harlan wince. "I
congratulate you, Mr. Carr," he said gallantly, "upon possessing the
fairest ornament of her sex. Guess this letter is for you, isn't it? I
found it in the post-office while the keeper was out, and just took it. If
it doesn't belong here, I'll skip back with it."

"Thanks," murmured Harlan, rubbing the injured hand with the other.
"I--where did you come from?"

"The station," explained Dick, pleasantly. "I never trace myself back of
where I was last seen."

"He's going to stay with us, Harlan," put in Dorothy, wickedly, "so you
mustn't let us keep you away from your work. Come along, Dick, and I'll
show you our cow."

They went out, followed by a long, low whistle of astonishment from Harlan
which Dorothy's acute ears did not miss. Presently Mr. Carr retreated into
the library, and locked the door, but he did not work. The book was at a
deadlock, half a paragraph beyond "the flower-like hands of Elaine," of
which, indeed, the author had confessed his inability to write.

"Dick," thought Harlan. "Mr. Chester. A young giant with a grip like an
octopus. 'The fairest ornament of her sex.' Never, never heard of him
before. Some old flame of Dorothy's, who has discovered her whereabouts
and brazenly followed her, even on her honeymoon."

And he, Harlan, was absolutely prevented from speaking of it by an unhappy
chain of circumstances which put him in a false light! For the first time
he fully perceived how a single thoughtless action may bind all one's
future existence.

"Just because I stroked the hand of a distressed damsel," muttered Harlan,
"and told her I was married, I've got to sit and see a procession of my
wife's old lovers marking time here all Summer!" In his fevered fancy, he
already saw the Jack-o'-Lantern surrounded by Mrs. Carr's former admirers,
heard them call her "Dorothy," and realised that there was not a single
thing he could do.

"Unless, of course," he added, mentally, "it gets too bad, and I have an
excuse to order 'em out. And then, probably, Dorothy will tell Elaine to
take her dolls and go