inth, general collapse following bump of coal and forcible ejection from
freight train near Albany, New York.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

XI

THE duties of young Lord Marque, the new man on the Willett estate at
Caranay, left him at leisure only after six o'clock, his day being almost
entirely occupied in driving a large lawn mower.

Life, for John Marque--as he now called himself--had become exquisitely
simple; eating, sleeping, driving a lawn mower--these three manly sports
so entirely occupied the twenty-four hours that he had scarcely time to
do much weeding--and no time at all to sympathise with himself because he
was too busy by day and too sleepy at night.

Sundays he might have taken off for the purpose of condoling with
himself, had it not been for the new telephone operator.

She was a recent incumbent at the railroad station--a tall,
clear-skinned, yellow-haired girl of twenty-five who sat at her
desk all day saying in a low, prettily modulated voice,
"hello--hello--hello--hello" to unseen creatures of whom John Marque
wotted not.

Three things concerning her he had noticed: She wore pink gingham; she
never seemed to see him when he came down to the little sunburnt platform
and seated himself on the edge, feet dangling over the rails; he had
never seen her except when she was seated at the pine table which was
ornamented by her instrument and switchboard. She had a bed-room and
kitchen in the rear. But he never saw her go into them or emerge; never
saw her except seated at her switchboard, either reading or sewing, or,
with the silvery and Greek-like band encircling her hair and supporting
the receiver close to her small ears, repeating in her low, modulated
voice: hello--hello--hello--hello.

He wondered how tall she might be. He had never seen her standing or
walking. He wondered what her direct gaze might be like. Only her
profile had he yet beheld--a sweet, youthful, profile nobly outlined
under the gold of her hair; but under the partly lowered lashes as she
sat sewing or reading or summoning centrals from the vast expanses of
North America, he divined eyes of a soft lilac-blue. And he chewed his
pipe-stem and kicked his feet and thought about them.

Few trains stopped at Caranay except for water; the station, an old-time
farm house of small dimensions, overlooking the track and Willow Brook,
contained ticket office, telephone, and telegraph in one--all presided
over by the tele