Faintly the bit of soiled fabric breathed to him the sweet scent of hyacinth.

His eyes shone in an eager bloodshot glare as he watched Billinger disappear over a roll in the prairie a mile away.
"Making a fool of yourself again," he muttered, again winding the golden hair about his fingers.

"There are other women in the world who use hyacinth besides her.

And there are other women with red-gold hair--and pretty, pretty as Billinger says she was, aren't there ?" He laughed, but there was something uneasy and unnatural in the laugh.
In spite of his efforts to argue the absurdity of his thoughts, he could feel that he was trembling in every nerve of his body.

And twice--three times he held the handkerchief to his face before he reached the rise in the prairie over which Billinger had disappeared.