sts in our part of the
country--she doesn't need anything from us. But if you ask me, it's
just about killed Adele," she went on frankly, glancing at her sister,
"she looks like a sick girl to me. We came on two or three days ago, to
see a specialist about her, and I declare I'll be glad to get her back."

"What has become of Dr. Cooper?" Martie felt justified in asking.

"He lost all the practice he ever had, they say," Mrs. Baker said
viciously. "And good enough for him, too! His wife won't even see him,
and he lives at some boarding-house; and serve him right!"

"And Jack's book such a success!" Adele said, widening her eyes at
Martie. "Do you ever see him?"

"He's got a great friend in Dean Silver, the novelist," Martie answered
composedly. "I believe they're abroad."

"The idea!" Adele said lifelessly. She was playing with her bracelets
now, and looked about her in an aimless way.

"Well, if this little girl has any sense she'll let the past be the
past," remarked the optimistic Mrs. Baker. "There's a fellow out our
way, Joe Chase; he's got a cattle ranch. You never heard of him? He's a
di'mond in the rough, if you ask me, but he's been crazy about Adele
ever since she first visited me. He'd give her anything in God's world."

"But I think I'd die of loneliness winters!" Adele said, with the smile
of a petted child.

So there was a third man eager to sacrifice his life to her, Martie
marvelled. Adele would consider herself a martyr if she succumbed to
the wiles of the rough diamond; she would puzzle and distress him in
his ranch-house; she would Fret and exact and complain. Probably one of
the Swedish farmers thereabout could give him a daughter who would make
him an infinitely better wife, and bear him children, and worship him
blindly. But no; he must yearn for this neurotic, abnormal little
creature, with her ugly history and her barren brain and body.

"Isn't it funny how unlucky I am, Martie?" Adele asked at parting. "If
you'll tell me why one woman has to have so much bad luck, and others
just sail along on the top of the wave, I'll be obliged to you!" She
came close to Martie, her faded, bitter little face flushing suddenly.
"Now this Mrs. Cooper," she said in a low tone, "her father was a shoe
manufacturer, and left her half a million dollars. Of course, it's a
SNAP for her to say she'll do this, and say she'll do that! She says
it's for the children she refuses the divorce, but the real reason is