Ashley has been in Raymond only two weeks, but already he begins to sigh for the pleasures and palaces of gay, crowded and babel-voiced New York.
"Hang it!" he growls to Barker, as he packs his valise, "this Vermont country is all right, but the natives are atrocious. They know no literature except those provincial Boston dailies and the current paper-covered rot; no music except Sousa's marches, no art except the colored supplements to the Sunday newspapers and no conversation higher than horse, hay and village gossip."
"Your criticism is too sweeping," replies the detective. There is more culture in Raymond, in proportion to its population, than there is in New York, I'll wager. And where in that politics-ridden city will you find another woman rivaling your fervid description of Miss Louise Hathaway?"
"Ah, she is a rose in a wilderness. And that reminds me that I have promised myself the pleasure of a farewell call upon her," says Ashley.
"Farewell?" repeats the detective, skeptically. "You will not see the last of Miss Hathaway to-day unless I am much mistaken. I have known of more than one lover of statuary who failed to be content with the marble and warmed it into living, breathing womanhood."
"Nonsense!" laughs Ashley. "I shall live and die a bachelor."
But he spends fully ten minutes in tying his cravat, brushes his hair with unusual care, gives his mustache an extra twist, and saunters up to the Hathaway homestead in an expectant frame of mind. Foolish Jack Ashley! In after years he will smile at the recollection of the thoughts that flit through his busy mind to-day.
Just as he turns into the path leading to the Hathaway residence Miss Hathaway is stepping out upon the veranda. She sees him and smiles in her grave way.
"Good afternoon," she says to her visitor. He answers, uncovering his head.
"I called to say au revoir. I leave for New York to-*night."
She leads the way to the reception room. After they
