"'Your game's up, and you don't marry an heiress this trip'"
The red lips of Eva May's hero curled back from his white teeth in a snarl. The shallow, handsome face was white and vicious, but the insolent black eyes of the coward could not meet those of the man before him. A curious crowd was collecting.
"Get out of this," said Morgan in a voice that held a warning.
And the Frenchman went at once, muttering ineffectual vows of vengeance, but with never a look toward the fair Evangeline Marie, who was weeping upon Belinda's shoulder.
The next train from the west took on only three passengers at Albany—a fair, good-looking young fellow in riding clothes, a fat, red-eyed girl in riding habit, and a pretty young woman in conventional garb. The fat girl fell into a seat, shut her eyes, and sobbed occasionally in a spasmodic way.
The man held out his hand to the young woman.
"I'll go into the smoker. I can't be of use any longer, but I'll see that you get a cab, and——"
He hesitated, looked at her imploringly.
"And—if—if I——