He was desperately in love, and would have taken great chances to win her under ordinary circumstances, but now--now what?
Supposing she had found out something?
Supposing she, too, wrote him and told him that she knew all--that she would have nothing more to do with him?
It would be just like this to happen as things were going now.
Meanwhile he had not sent the money.
He strolled up and down the polished floor of the resort, his hands in his pockets, his brow wrinkled, his mouth set.

He was getting some vague comfort out of a good cigar, but it was no panacea for the ill which affected him.

Every once in a while he would clinch his fingers and tap his foot--signs of the stirring mental process he was undergoing.

His whole nature was vigorously and powerfully shaken up, and he was finding what limits the mind has to endurance.

He drank more brandy and soda than he had any evening in months.