"I wish they had given me the ring in private," said Al.
"You do? Well, I don't! You must get over some of that modesty of yours; you won't need it in your career as advance agent. Going now? Well, good-night. You'll be ready to start for the next town at noon to-morrow?"
"Good. Look out for Farley on your way home."
"I'm not worrying about him," laughed Al. "I guess you're more afraid of him than I am, sir. Good-night."
Al lived a little way out of the town. To get home it was necessary for him to ride for half an hour in a horse car, and then to walk some distance along a lonely country road.
Singular to say, the subject that engrossed his thoughts during the ride was not the events of the day, not the new career that he was about to begin. One face was constantly before his mental vision, the face of the beautiful young girl—Miss Gladys March, the bills called her—who had played the part of Ethel Darlington.
Why did her face haunt him so persistently? he asked himself. She was a complete stranger to him, yet, somehow, he felt as if he had known her all his life.
His thoughts were still on her when he left the car and began his lonely walk.
So absorbed was he in meditation that he did not notice that from the moment he alighted from the car he was followed at a short distance by a man whose face was concealed by a high coat collar and a slouch hat.