He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. "You were a little out of your head. It's mighty lonesome down there for a man bred to cities. CHAPTER VIII. “Think of the mockery!” she said. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.
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