happiest of all, Billy. When I was finally discovered even there and I saw people who had known me for years change over night and get the gold-greedy look in their eyes and the fawning, sycophantic tone in their voices, I gave up the struggle and that was the end of masquerading.'
"We saw a great deal of each other after that; and a year later she promised to marry me, but insisted that the engagement be kept a secret for the time being. Then came the failure of the Mastodon Bank, and the Clagdon fortune was wiped out. Henry Clagdon committed suicide rather than face a term in a Federal prison; and when everything was settled, Ethel was not only fatherless, but penniless. I urged her to marry me then, but she kept putting me off. Then yesterday," and Van Der Cynck's face was wicked with anger, "she told me she was going to marry John Dally, a miserable artist who can't sell enough of his own pictures to keep him out of the poorhouse,—and she penniless." He slapped his stick on the desk in wordless rage and stared straight ahead, forgetting, apparently, the man to whom he was talking.
An apologetic cough from Kimbarton recalled him to his surroundings and he took up his story again.
"That brings me to my purpose in peeking you," he said. "Once she told me that,"—he gulped with rage. "She said, 'It was the third summer Billy, I was nineteen, and my head was full of romance. His name was Kenally, Howard Kenally, and I thought I was in love with him. He said he was in love with me, and I believed him. We eloped, but Uncle found out and brought me back. Then I wrote to him. Foolish, silly letters they were, the kind a silly, sentimental child would write, saying how dearly I loved him and always would, and a lot of silliness; nothing that was wrong, but horribly and utterly foolish. Then my uncle told me that he had looked him up and found he was a married man, and that killed it. I never saw nor heard of him again and hope that I never shall, but I wanted to tell you nbout this, Billy, so you would know.'"
Van Der Cynck studied the tip of his shoe for a moment and then went on, his face fiendish in its intensity, his voice vibrating with suppressed anger.
"Here is my plan. Find this man Kenally, get the letters, and send them to Dally. Dally is a prude, a man who. would think a woman unclean if she should tell a lie even by imputation. He's a Puritan of the most rigid views. Those letters would damn her in his eyes as surely as if she were Saphira herself. I'd bleed them of every cent they have; but she's broke, and he's . as poor as a church mouse. I don't care a whoop about the money anyway, but by God, she won't marry him if I have anything to say about it Get those letters, Kimbarton, and I'll give you a hundred dollars apiece, for them, and pay your expenses. Look up this man Kenally. All I know of him is that he was at Idlemere ten years ago and he was a short, stout blonde, with blue eyes. He was married and lived in Chicago on Dearborn, near Schiller Street. Can you, handle it?"
