“I hope so; and that is one reason why I am asking you to share the burden with me.  All that I have told you so far has been unimportant compared with what followed.  Had it simply been a difference in temperament, I have no doubt that I should have become accustomed to the absence of these things I craved, and have adjusted my life to meet the new conditions.  But other and more serious difficulties soon arose.  With Ralph Buckner possession seemed to be enough.  I have seen him scheme for months to secure some high-bred horse or a fancy breed of cattle, and after they became his property hardly care whether he ever saw them again.  So it was with his wife.  Within six months he resumed his fortnightly visits to Colorado Springs on alleged business, from which he always returned worn out and ill-tempered.  Until we were married, I had no idea that his life on the ranch and his life in Colorado Springs were so distinctly apart, but I was soon to learn it with bitter clearness.”

As the story progressed Alice could feel the increasing tenseness.  Eleanor had herself well in hand, but the occasional break in her voice evidenced the strain.

“There was a so-called club in Colorado Springs whose members included the wildest young men of the town and several of the younger ranchmen who were able to stand the pace.  In this Ralph was a leading spirit, drinking and gambling with that abandon which was his dominant characteristic.  ‘Buckner is a poor gambler but a good loser,’ one of them is reported to have said, but that only meant that Ralph succeeded in concealing his real feelings until he reached home; for it was his wife who received the full force of the reaction as his brain cleared from the fumes of the liquor and he came to a realization of his losses.”

She paused and looked at her companion, and encouraged by Alice’s rapt attention continued: 

“Our baby was born a year after we were married—­”

“I never knew of that,” the girl said, quietly.

“Don’t,” was the reply; “I can’t go on if you weaken me by your sympathy.”

“Forgive me, dear Eleanor,” Alice murmured.

“By that time every remnant of a tie which held us together had disappeared.  The child, however, was a real link, and for a little while gave us something to think of besides ourselves.  For a year, perhaps, Ralph went less frequently to Colorado Springs, and I came to think that we might possibly be able to continue our lives together for the child’s sake.  But the novelty wore off from this new plaything, as it had from the others, though it lasted longer than anything else ever had, and then Ralph’s absences from the ranch became more and more frequent and of longer duration.  I cared little for this, as it enabled me to take Carina to my father’s ranch, where I forgot for the time being the emptiness of the home to which we must sooner or later return.”

Alice glanced up tenderly.  “Poor dear Eleanor,” she said, softly; but Mrs. Gorham went on without heeding: