purpose might have been in apparently seeking his friendship at first
could not now be conjectured--indeed, made little difference--but it
was clear enough she really belonged to the Lacy crowd, and had no more
use for him.

Westcott was sorry for the turn things had taken; he made no attempt to
disguise this from his own mind. He was beginning to like Miss
Donovan, to think about her, to feel a distinct interest in her. Some
way she had impressed him deeply as a young woman of character and
unusual charm--a breath out of the East to arouse his imagination and
memory. He had begun to hope for a friendship which would endure, and
now--the house of cards fell at a single touch.

He could scarcely comprehend the situation; how a girl of her apparent
refinement and gentility could ever be attracted by a rough, brutal
type such as Ned Beaton so evidently was. Why, the man's lack of taste
in dress, the expression of his face, his ungrammatical language,
stamped him as belonging to a distinctly lower order.

There surely must be some other cause drawing them together. Yet,
whatever it was, there was no doubt but that he had been very properly
snubbed. Her words stung; yet it was the manner in which she had
looked at him and swept past at Beaton's side which hurt the most. Oh,
well, an enemy more or less made small difference in his life; he would
laugh at it and forget. She had made her choice of companionship, and
it was just as well, probably, that the affair had gone no further
before he discovered the sort of girl she really was.

Westcott reached this decision and the outer office at the same time,
exchanged a careless word or two with Timmons, and finally purchased a