face had
grown more placid and contented; his long curls had been conventionally
clipped; he had gained flesh unmistakably, and the lower buttons of
the slim waistcoat he had worn to church that memorable Sunday were too
tight for comfort or looks. HE WAS happy; yet as he glanced over the
material spring landscape, full of practical health, blossom, and
promise of fruition, it struck him that the breeze that blew over it was
chilly, even if healthful; and he shivered slightly.

He reached the hotel, entered the office, glanced at the register, and
passed through into his private room. He had been away for two days,
and noticed with gratification that the influx of visitors was still
increasing. His clerk followed into the room.

"There's a lady in 56 who wanted to see you when you returned. She asked
particularly for the manager."

"Who is she?"

"Don't know. It's a Mrs. Merrydew, from Sacramento. Expecting her
husband on the next steamer."

"Humph! You'll have to be rather careful about these solitary married
women. We don't want another scandal, you know."

"She asked for you by name, sir, and I thought you might know her,"
returned the clerk.

"Very well. I'll go up."

He sent a waiter ahead to announce him, and leisurely mounted the
stairs. No. 56 was the sitting-room of a private suite on the first
floor. The waiter was holding the door open. As he approached it a
faint perfume from the interior made him turn pale. But he recovered his
presence of mind sufficiently to close the door sharply upon the waiter
behind him.

"Jim," said a voice which thrilled him.

He looked up and beheld what any astute reader of romance will have
already suspected--the woman to whom he believed he owed his ruin in
San Francisco. She was as beautiful and alluring as ever, albeit she was
thinner and more spiritual than he had ever seen her. She was tastefully
dressed, as she had always been, a certain style of languorous silken
deshabille which she was wont to affect in better health now became her
paler cheek and feverishly brilliant eyes. There was the same opulence
of lace and ornament, and, whether by accident or design, clasped around
the slight wrist of her extended hand was a bracelet which he remembered
had swept away the last dregs of his fortune.

He took her hand mechanically, yet knowing whatever rage was in his
heart he had not the strength to refuse it.

"They told me it was Mrs. Merrydew," he stammered.