April dissolved in mist and rain and the flowers of May were blossoming. Nellie Pennington, who had not yet despaired, and Nina Jaffray, who had, were driving in the Park in Mrs. Pennington’s victoria. For two months Mrs. Pennington had been paying Nina more than usual attention. To begin with she liked her immensely as she had always done. Nina’s faults she believed to be the inevitable result of her education and environment, for Nina was the daughter of a Trust, and was its only indulgence. The habit of getting what she wanted was in her blood and she simply couldn’t understand being balked in anything. But Nina was beginning slowly and with some difficulty to grasp the essentials of Philip Gallatin’s character and the permanence of his reconstruction; and with the passage of time and event Nina had a glimmering of the true caliber of his mind, all of which brought out with unflattering definiteness her own frivolity and gave a touch of farce-comedy, with which she had in her heart been far from investing it, to her unconventional wooing.

Nellie Pennington understood her, and noted with no little satisfaction the evidence of the chastening of her spirit. She knew now beyond all doubt that had it not been for Nina, the reconciliation of Jane and Phil Gallatin would have been effected.

She knew, too, that Nina had not played fair, and guessed by what means Jane had been victimized. Indeed,[339] Jane’s indifference to Nina bore all tokens of intolerance, the intolerance of the pure for the contaminated, the contemptuous pity of the innocent for the guilty. But Mrs. Pennington had not lived in vain, and a talent for living her own life according to an accepted code, had given her a kindly insight into the lives of others. Whatever Nina’s faults, she had never merited Jane’s pity or contempt. Jane was a fool, of course, but so was Nina, each in her own way—a fool; but of the two it now seemed that Nina was the lesser. Nellie Pennington had already noticed signs that Nina was tired of the game and knew that if Larry Kane played his own trumps with care, he might still win the odd trick, which was Nina. But as far as Jane was concerned, Nellie also knew that Nina was ready to die at her guns, for a dislike once born in Nina’s breast was not speedily dispelled.

Mrs. Pennington looked up at the obelisk as though in the hope that some of the wisdom of its centuries might suddenly be imparted to her. Then she asked, “Nina, why don’t you marry Larry Kane?”

Nina Jaffray smiled.

“And confess defeat? Why?”

“Better confess it now than later.”

“Why confess it at all?”

“You’ll have to some day. You’re not going to marry Phil, you know.”

“No, I’m not going to marry Phil. I know that now. I haven’t proposed to him for at least a month—and then he was quite impolite—rude, in fact.” She sighed. “Oh, I don’t care, but I don’t want Jane Loring to marry him.”

“She’s not likely to. She’s as hopelessly stubborn as you are.”

Nellie Pennington waited a moment, and then with a laugh, “Nina, you’ve enjoyed yourself immensely, haven’t[340] you? Jane is such an innocent. I’d give worlds to know what you said to her!”

Nina laughed. “Would you?”

“Yes, do tell me.”

“I will. It’s very amusing. She expected me to lie, of course. So I simply told her the truth.”

“And she believed——”

“The opposite.”

“Of course.”

Nellie Pennington laughed up at the passing tree tops.

“How clever of you, Nina! You’re wasting your time single. A girl of your talents needs an atmosphere in which to display them.”

“And you suggest matrimony,” said Nina scornfully.

“There’s always your husband, you know.”

“But Larry isn’t an atmosphere. He’s too tangible.”

“All men are. It’s their chief charm.”

“H-m. I’ve never thought so. I shouldn’t have wanted to marry Phil if he had been tangible.”

“Then suppose he had—er—accepted you?”

Nina shrugged and crossed her knees.

“I should probably have hated him cordially.”

The conversation changed, then lagged, and by the time Nina’s home was reached both women were silent, Nina because she was bored, Nellie because she was thinking.

“Good-by, dear,” laughed Nina, as she got down at her door. “Don’t be surprised at anything you hear. I’m quite desperate, so desperate that I may even take your advice. You’ll see me off at the pier, won’t you?”

Nellie Pennington nodded. She was quite sure that it was better for everybody that Miss Jaffray should be upon the other side of the water.

The week following, quite by chance she met Henry[341] K. Loring one afternoon in the gallery at the Metropolitan where the ceramics were. An emissary from the office was opening the cases for him and with rare delight he was examining their contents with a pocket glass. She watched him for a while and when the great man relinquished the last piece of Lang-Yao sang de b?uf and the case was closed and locked, she intercepted him and led him off to a bench in a quiet corner where she laid before him the result of a week of deliberation. He had begun by being bored, for there was a case of the tea-dust glazes which he had still planned to look over, but in a moment he had warmed to her proposals and was discussing them with animation.

Yes, he had already planned to go to the Canadian woods again this summer. Mrs. Loring wanted to go abroad this year. Mrs. Loring didn’t like the woods unless he rented a permanent camp, the kind of place that he and Jane despised. The plan had been discussed and Jane had expressed a willingness to go. But at Mrs. Loring’s opposition the matter had been dropped. But Loring had not given up the idea. It would do Jane a lot of good, he admitted. Mrs. Pennington’s was a great plan, a brave plan, a beautiful plan, one that did credit to her sympathies and one that must in the end be successful. He would manage it. He would take the matter up at once and arrange for the same guides and outfit he had had last year. Would Mr. and Mrs. Pennington come as his guests? Of course. Who else—Mr. Worthington and Colonel Broadhurst? But could Mr. Kenyon be relied upon to do his share? Very well. He would leave that to Mrs. Pennington.

The next afternoon, at Mrs. Pennington’s request, John Kenyon called at her house in Stuyvesant Square, and his share in the arrangement was explained to him.[342] He was willing to do anything for Phil Gallatin’s happiness that he could, of course, but it amused him to learn how the agreeable lady had taken that willingness for granted, and how she waved aside the difficulties which, as Kenyon suggested, might be encountered. Phil might have other plans. He could be obstinate at times. It might not be easy, either, to get Phil’s old guide for the pilgrimage. He needed a rest himself, and would go with Phil himself, if by doing so he could be of any assistance. It was now the first week in May. He would see Phil and report in a few days.

It was the next morning at the office when Kenyon broached the matter to his young partner. He was surprised that Phil fell in with the plan at once.

“Funny,” said Phil. “I was thinking of that yesterday. I am tired. The woods will do me a lot of good, but do you think that Hood can get along without us until August?”

“We’ll manage in some way. You deserve a rest, and I’m going to take one whether I deserve it or not. Could you get that guide you had last year, what’s his name—Joe——?”

“Keegón. I could try. We’d need two, but Joe can get another man. I have the address. I’ll write to-day.”

Gallatin got up and walked across the room to the door, where he stopped.

“I suppose I can fix matters with Mr. Loring——”

“Yes, I think so,” replied Kenyon guardedly. “But you’d better be sure of it. He’s coming here to-morrow, isn’t he?”

Gallatin nodded gravely, and then thoughtfully went out.

That night John Kenyon dutifully reported in Stuyvesant Square. Mr. Loring also dutifully reported there,[343] and the three persons completed the details of the conspiracy.

So it happened that toward the middle of June, Phil Gallatin and John Kenyon reached the “jumping-off place” in the Canadian wilds. No two “jumping-off places” are alike, but this one consisted of three or four frame dwellings and a store, all squatted on the high bank of a small river, which came crystal-clear from the mystery of the deep woods above. John Kenyon got down from the stage that had driven them the ten miles from the nearest railroad station and stood on the plank walk in front of the store, a touch of color in his yellow cheeks, sniffing eagerly at the smell of the pine balsam. Gallatin glanced around at the familiar scene. Nothing was changed—the canoes drawn up along the bank, the black setter dog, the Indian packers lounging in the shade, the smell of their black tobacco, and the cool welcome of the trader who came out of the store to greet them.

Joe Keegón and another Indian, whose name turned out............