everal men. She added that when Quarrier, as governor, had concurred
in Siward's expulsion he knew perfectly well that Siward was not guilty,
because she herself had so informed Quarrier. Since then she had also
told Mortimer, but he had taken no steps to do justice to Siward,
although he, Mortimer, was still a governor of the Patroons Club.

This being about all she could think of to make mischief for two men
whose recent companionship had nourished and irritated her, she shipped
her trunks by express, packed her jewel-case and valise, and met Desmond
at the station.

Desmond had business in Europe; Lydia had as much business there
as anywhere; and, although she had been faithless to Mortimer for a
comparatively short time, within that time Desmond already had sworn at
her and struck her. So she was quite ready to follow Desmond anywhere
in this world or the next. And that, too, had not made her the more
considerate toward Mortimer.

When the latter returned from the races to find her gone the last
riddled props to what passed for his manhood gave way and the rotten
fabric came crashing into the mud.

He had loved her as far as he had been capable of imitating that passion
on the transposed plane to which he had fallen; he was stupefied at
first, then grew violent with the furniture, then hysterically profane,
then pitiable in the abandoned degradation of his grief. And, suspecting
Desmond, he started to find him. They put him out of Desmond's
club-house when he became noisy; they refused him admittance to several
similar resorts where his noise threatened to continue; his landlord
lost no time in interviewing him upon the subject of damage to furniture
from kicks and to the walls and carpets from the contents of smashed
bottles.

Creditors with sharp noses scented the whirlwind afar off and hemmed him
in with unsettled accounts, mostly hers. Somebody placed a lien on his
horses; a deputy sheriff began to follow him about; all credit ceased
as by magic, and men crossed the street to avoid meeting with an old
companion in direst need.

Still, alternately stupefied by his own grief and maddened into the
necessity for action, he packed a suitcase, crawled out of the rear
door, toiled across country and found a farmer to drive him twenty miles
over a sandy road to a local railroad crossing, where he managed to
board a train for Albany.

At Albany, as he stood panting and sweating on the long, concrete
platform whi