"I see the Lorraine woman is with Gladys Chamberlain," observed Porshinger, as he and his host were enjoying a good-night smoke in the billiard room, and incidentally knocking the balls about.
"Hum!" replied Woodside, as he made a neat gather along the rail. "When did you see her—come down on the same train?"
"No—passed them in the car, as I came from the station. What's she going to do—make it up with Lorraine, if he recovers?"
"Search me!" answered the other. "Will he have her?"
"You're a little behind, Josh—everybody knows that he has offered and she's undecided."
"Well, I wish him success. She's a damn good looking woman—better looking even than when she ran away with Amherst—don't you think so? Oh! I forgot you didn't know her then."
Porshinger shot a sharp look down the table—and followed it with a smile.
"I don't know her now—to speak to," he said. "But I have no trouble in recollecting two years back—and I quite agree with you. She is even better looking now. I don't wonder that she turned Amherst's head."
"It's a cold head, she turned!" Woodside laughed. "I fancy she found it out soon enough, and that they had a parrot and monkey time of it until they broke finally. The ways of the transgressor are full of punctures."
"You refer to only one sort of transgressors, I imagine," Porshinger remarked, with a thinly veiled contempt.