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358 "Drinking more than's good for him," she commented to herself.

Her one-time fiancé came over and lounged carelessly beside her.

"As your friend Ralph Waldo says, 'it's a small world after all.'"

She did not answer and he tried another tack.

"Well, Miss Sally Fell, the shoe's on the other foot now."

Again no response and, angered, he rasped out:

"That was a mean trick you played on me last month."

Last month! Was it only as far behind them as that? Years had passed, she would have said—almost a lifetime. Still, even though she had acted according to her convictions, her Puritan conscience troubled her a little; she felt pity for the boy she had—yes, jilted—there was no other word—and at the very altar. How like an old play it had all been, but a play without any humour at all. Perhaps she was responsible, in part, for his flight, and, most of all, his moral disintegration, so evident now. "I was awfully sorry, Phil, but you know when I became engaged to you, Rogers had brought back word that Ben had been lost. I promised Ben first, so when that message came in the bottle, what could I do but go?"

"You might better have stayed with me. A pretty mess you re in now."

"What are you doing with these criminals anyway?" she retorted. "They're nothing but thieves and murderers."

"Look out—they'll hear. It wasn't my fault. I couldn't help myself."