"'Now, I can't stand a fellow like that Herbert,' he said; and for all my kicks under the table he went on, 'It may be well enough for the French, but I say in this country it's a devilish shame. He is a young fellow in Lincoln, Mr. Kendall,—got a splendid wife, and a little baby, one of the nicest women in the world, and thinks the world of him, and he goes it with the boys as if he was one of 'em. He never goes home, though, unless he is sober enough to keep himself straight; but I've seen him bowling full many a time. Wine, women, and song, you know, and all that; it may be well enough for us young bloods, but in a fellow of his circumstances I say it's wrong, damn it! and he oughtn't to do it.'
"Now, I had told Phil that Grace was well and fairly happy. I had thought it but just to sink my opinion and give Grace's own account of herself and deliver her simple message without comment. 'Give Phil my love,' she had said as I left her the night before I came away.
"'And how does this Herbert's wife take all this?' asked Phil of Wayland.
"'Oh, she doesn't know all, I suppose. If she did, it would probably kill her. My brother's wife says that if it were not for her child she doesn't believe Mrs. Herbert would live very long, as it is.'
"'Her trouble is common talk, then?' observed Phil, sipping his wine and avoiding my eyes.
"'Why, yes, to a certain extent; though she doesn't parade it, by any means. In fact, she lives very much alone; no one ever sees her, hardly, but George here, who is an old friend, you know. Maybe you used to know her,' he added suddenly, coming to himself a little. 'Well, if you did,' he went on, as Phil did not answer, 'you wouldn't know her now, they say, for the lively, careless girl she was five or six years ago.' And then he began to talk about the condition of the Chinese in Denver, and how he had that morning seen one of them kicked off the sidewalk without having given the least provocation.
"Phil said nothing further about the Herberts all evening, but just before we separated for the night he asked me if I could let him have some money. I unsuspectingly thanked my stars that I could, and told him so.
"'Well, then,' he declared, 'I am going back to Lincoln with you to-morrow.' And, in spite of all I could say, he did. He had his beard shaved off, bought himself some civilized clothes, and made his appearance with me on the streets of Lincoln as naturally as if he had gone away but the day before. His life in the mountains had given him an air of decision, a certain quiet energy and determination which impressed one immediately with the sense of his being a man of strong character, with a powerful will under perfect control. I grew to have so much confidence in him that I thought his coming would somehow be a benefit to Grace, though I could not see how; in fact, when I tried to reason about it, I told myself exactly the contrary. But Phil seemed to have such implicit confidence in himself, to be so self-sufficient and so ready for any emergency, and altogether such a perfect man of action, that he inspired belief and confidence in others.
"We met Herbert on our way up from the station: he was standing in front of the 'Gazette' office, laughing and talking with Sudden's barkeeper. He greeted Phil with cordiality, in spite of the latter's distant bearing, and told him Grace would be greatly pleased at his arrival.
"'I suppose she will be glad to see me,' said Phil, as we passed on. And she was glad, very glad, to see him, but she was far from being made happy by his coming. I sent a note out to her, and Phil and I followed shortly after. I did not watch their meeting,—I thought, somehow, that no one ought to see it,—but I knew he took her in his arms; and when she came out on the porch to bring me in there were tears in her eyes.