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“But you must pay attention to me,” he protested. “You really don't know the sort of man you are dealing with, or what people think about him.”

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She sat in silence, biting her lip nervously, while Montague told her, as plainly as he could, what Ryder's reputation was. All that she could answer was, “He is such an interesting man!”

“There are many interesting men,” said he, “but you will never meet them if you get people talking about you like this.”

Lucy clasped her hands together.

“Allan,” she exclaimed, “I did my best to persuade him not to come out here. And you are right. I will do what you say—I will have nothing to do with him, honestly. You shall see! It's his own fault that he came, and he can find somebody else to entertain him while he's here.”

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“I wish that you would tell him plainly, Lucy,” said Montague. “Never mind if he gets angry. Make him understand you—once for all.”

“I will—I will!” she declared.

And Montague judged that she carried out her promise quickly, for the rest of the evening Ryder gave to entertaining the company. About midnight Montague chanced to look into the library, and he saw the president of the Gotham Trust in the midst of a group which was excitedly discussing divorce. “Marriage is a sin for which the church refuses absolution!” he heard Stanley Ryder exclaiming.

A few days after these incidents, Montague was waiting for a friend who was to come to dinner at his hotel. He was sitting in the lobby reading a paper, and he noticed an elderly gentleman with a grey goatee and rather florid complexion who passed down the corridor before him. A minute or two later he happened to glance up, and he caught this gentleman's eye.

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The latter started, and a look of amazement came over his face. He came forward, saying, “I beg pardon, but is not this Allan Montague?”

“It is,” said Montague, looking at him in perplexity.

“You don't remember me, do you?” said the other.

“I must confess that I do not,” was the answer.

“I am Colonel Cole.”

But Montague only knitted his brows in greater perplexity. “Colonel Cole?” he repeated.

“You were too young to remember me,” the other said. “I have been at your house a dozen times. I was in your father's brigade.”

“Indeed!” exclaimed Montague. “I beg your pardon.”

“Don't mention it, don't mention it,” said the other, taking a seat beside him. “It was really extraordinary that I should recall you. And how is your brother? Is he in New York?”

“He is,” said Montague.