The
little mountain house near Lake George, with its interesting and
beautiful guest, had faded from sight, and I realized that somebody
was hammering with a stick upon my door.
"Hello there!" I cried. "What's wanted?"
"It's I--Harley," came Stuart's voice. "Let me in."
I unlocked the door and he entered. The brown of Barnegat had gone,
and he was his broken self again.
"Well," I said, trying to ignore his appearance, which really shocked
me, "how's the book? Got it done?"
He sank into a chair with a groan.
"Hang the book!--it's all up with that; I'm going to Chadwick to-
morrow and call the thing off," he said. "She won't work--two weeks'
steady application gone for nothing."
"Oh, come!" I said; "not as bad as that."
"Precisely as bad as that," he retorted. "What can a fellow do if
his heroine disappears as completely as if the earth had opened and
swallowed her up?"
"Gone?" I cried, with difficulty repressing my desire to laugh.
"Completely--searched high and low for her--no earthly use," he
answered.
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