t because
really he had been a ripping friend and loyal and trustworthy but the
little climber felt that for once she had failed to climb. She was
left, so to speak, in mid air, inoculated with the germs of all manner
of new ambitions no longer realisable. Wherefore she forgot her
affection for him and forgot all the lessons of politeness so
studiously acquired in the years of climbing and let him have her
opinions hot and strong as a simple uncultivated child of the people.
The expression on Anthony Barraclough's face read plainly enough relief
at his escape. He packed his valise and departed wondering greatly at
the intricacy and unreasonableness of women. It did not occur to him
that he was greatly to blame for having given her such a good time.
Such a consideration was as remote as the thought of congratulating
himself on his generosity. He was only awfully sorry she should have
turned out as she did and rather perplexed at the apparent want of
reason. And Auriole with the disposition to like him better than any
man of her acquaintance suffered an entire reversal of feeling and went
headlong to the other extreme in a spirit of unbecoming revengefulness.

And in the valley below, under the shadow of a cloud, this man was
being tortured.

"I never meant that," Auriole cried. "I never meant that--did I--did
I? I just wanted to pay him back. I just wanted----" She bit her
lower lip and choked. "What a fool I am," she gasped. "Haven't I won
a millionaire out of it? What's it matter if he does suffer a bit--he
wouldn't be the only one. A millionaire," she repeated, "a
millionaire--the wife of a railroad king. That's worth something
surely."

A couple of unruly tears trickled out of her eyes and fell on her lap.
It is really too absurd that even the thought of a million pounds
cannot prevent a girl from crying.

CHAPTER 18.

HOLDING OUT.

Richard Frencham Altar had a sense of humour but never before in his
hitherto easy going life had he so earnestly needed it. A sense of
humour in a queer abstract way provides a quality of companionship--it
gives a man the power to be a pal to himself--to talk to himself
aloud--to laugh at adversity--to spot the comic side in the most
pathetic predicament. Each day provided something new in the matter of
discomfort or alarm. The calls he was obliged to make upon his
resources of humour were therefore severe and exacting. Over and over
again he had need to