“I’m sorry,” said Sarah, flushing with a feeling that was akin to guilt, “but I am engaged Sunday.”

Bob turned again to his work, cast into sudden gloom, and wondering jealously what was Sarah’s engagement.  Sarah, not altogether easy in her mind, nor wholly pleased with herself, endeavored to justify herself for being so lightly off with the old and on with the new....  She compared Bob to Farley Curtis, and found the comparison not in Bob’s favor.  Not that this was exactly a justification, but it was a salve.  Sarah was in the shopping period of her life—­shopping for a husband, so to speak.  She was entitled to the best she could get ... and Bob did not seem to be the best.  Farley was sprightly, interesting, with the manners of a more effete world than Coldriver; Bob was awkward, ofttimes silent, lacking polish.  Farley was solicitous in small matters that Bob failed utterly to perceive; Farley was always skilled in minute points of decorum, whose very existence was unknown to Bob.  In short, Farley was altogether fascinating, while Bob, at best, was commonplace.  Yet, not in her objective mind, but deep in her centers of intuition, she was conscious of a hesitancy, conscious of something that urged her toward Bob and warned her against Farley Curtis.

On Sunday Bob saw Sarah drive away with Curtis—­and spent a black day of jealousy and heartburning.  During the succeeding two weeks he spent many black days and sleepless nights, for Curtis monopolized Sarah’s leisure, and Sarah seemed to have thrown discretion to the winds and clothed herself against fear of Coldriver’s gossip, for she seemed to give her company almost eagerly to the stranger....  And Coldriver talked.

Bob spoke bitterly of the matter to Scattergood.

“Um!...” grunted Scattergood, “don’t seem to recall any statute forbiddin’ any young feller to git him any gal he kin.  Eh?”

“No.  But this Curtis—­there’s something wrong there.  He isn’t intending to play fair....  I—­He’s got some kind of a purpose, Mr. Baines.”

“Think so, eh?  What kind of a purpose?” Scattergood had his own ideas on this subject, but did not disclose them.  It was in his mind that Curtis cultivated Sarah because of Sarah’s propinquity of a certain paper which the man had reason to believe was in Bob Allen’s safe.

Bob’s face was set and stern, granite as the hills among which he had been born and which had become a part of his nature.  “If he doesn’t play fair ... if he should—­hurt her ...  I’d take him apart, Mr. Baines.”

“Calc’late you would,” said Scattergood, tranquilly, “but there’s a law in sich case, made and pervided, callin’ that kind of amusement murder ...”

It was not Scattergood’s custom to publish his emotions; nevertheless he was worried.  He appreciated the state of mind which had brought Sarah to Coldriver—­the spirit of restless, resentful youth, demanding the world for its plaything.  He knew Sarah’s high temper, her eagerness for adventure....  He knew that thousands of girls before her had been fascinated by well-told tales of the life to be lived out in the world of cities, of wealth, of artificial gayeties ... the lure of travel, of excitement....  And Scattergood did not covet the duty of carrying a woeful story to old Nahum Pound, the gentle schoolmaster.