"Both--in the streets of 'Frisco six or seven years ago. The man's name was Anchor."
"Are you talking of the corpse?" asked Lancaster, settling himself.
"Of what else. He was a lucky miner, and, having made no end of money, he built a new raw palace near 'Frisco, where he settled with his wife."
"Ah!" said Frank, intelligently, "she's the woman."
"Quite so, and I loved her for all I was worth, till I found her out."
"Eustace," remarked Lancaster, finding these details scrappy, "if you will start in an' sail plainly, I won't interrupt."
Jarman took a pull at his pipe. "I'll give the gist of it in a few words," said he, slowly. "I was doing some journalistic work in 'Frisco, and ran across Anchor. He was a big, burly, rough chap, but a whacking good sort. We chummed up, and he invited me to see him. I was introduced to Mrs. Anchor, and fell in love with her."
"What was she like?"
"You promised not to interrupt. Never mind what she was like. My taste then is not my taste now."
"Mildred!" thought Frank, but said nothing.