ut overcoat, gloves or muffler. His
fever-struck brain was filled with a resolve that deprived him of all
regard for personal comfort or safety. He was out in the storm, looking
for some one, and whether love or hate was in his heart, no man could
tell.

All night long Dodge and Thorpe looked for him, aided in their search by
three or four private detectives who were put on the case at midnight. At
one o'clock the two friends reappeared at Lutie's apartment, summoned
there by the detective who had been left on guard with instructions to
notify them when she returned.

It was from the miserable, conscience-stricken Lutie that they had an
account of George's adventures earlier in the night. White-faced, scared
and despairing, she poured out her unhappy tale of triumph over love and
pity. The thing that she had longed for, though secretly dreaded, had
finally come to pass. She had seen her former husband in the gutter,
degraded, besotted, thoroughly reduced to the level from which nothing
save her own loyal, loving efforts could lift him. She had dreamed of a
complete conquest of caste, and the remaking of a man. She had dreamed of
the day when she could pick up from the discarded of humanity this
splendid, misused bit of rubbish and in triumph claim it as her own, to
revive, to rebuild, to make over through the sure and simple processes of
love! This had been Lutie Tresslyn's notion of revenge!

She saw George at eight o'clock that night. As she stood in the shelter of
the small canvas awning protecting the entrance to the building in which
she lived, waiting for the taxi to pull up, her eyes searched the swirling
shadows up and down the street. She never failed to look for the distant
and usually indistinct figure of _her man_. It had become a habit with
her. The chauffeur had got down to crank his machine, and there was
promise of a no inconsiderable delay in getting the cold engine started.
She was on the point of returning to the shelter of the hallway, when she
caught sight of a tall, shambling figure crossing the street obliquely,
and at once recognised George Tresslyn. He was staggering. The light from
the entrance revealed his white, convulsed face. Her heart sank. She had
never seen him so drunk, so disgusting as this! The taxi-cab was twenty or
thirty feet away. She would have to cross a wet, exposed space in order to
reach it before George could come up with her. She realised with a quiver
of alarm that it wa