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 He stuffed the ashes down into his bowl with a pudgy forefinger. "She is still here?"

"No, she left this morning. That note was from her."

"She—refused you?"

"I never asked her. And the note practically informs me that I may just as well save myself the trouble."

"Well, well!" said Hunter again, sympathetically. "Er—isn't there any more to tell, old chap?"

"I suppose there is; but what's the use? Do you recollect telling me awhile ago that what I needed was to singe my wings? Well, I've done it, Hunter. The effect may be educational, but it's damned unpleasant!"

"I'm sorry," growled his friend. He set himself on the other end of the window-seat and puffed silently a moment. Then,—