“Worried, Annie, were you? I haven’t been drinking; don’t be frightened—no, not the theatre, either this time. Some business, dear; business that delayed me. I’m sorry you were worried, I am, Annie. I’ve had a long walk. It is pleasant here. I believe I’m tired, Annie.” He faltered, and turned away his face.

“Dear me,” said Annie, “why, you poor fellow, you are all tired out. Sit right up here by the fire, and I will bring the coffee. I’ve tried so hard not to let it boil away, you don’t know, Jack; and I was so afraid something had happened to you.”

Her face, her voice, her touch, seemed more than he could bear for a minute, perhaps. He gulped down his coffee, choking.

“Annie, look here.” He put down his cup, trying to smile and make a jest of the words. “Suppose a fellow had it in him to be a rascal, and nobody ever knew it, eh?”

“I should rather not know it, if I were his wife,” said Annie.

“But you couldn’t care anything more for him, you know, Annie?”

“I don’t know,” said Annie, shaking her head with a little perplexed smile; “you would be just Jack, anyhow.”

Jack coughed, took up his coffee-cup, set it down hard, strode once or twice across the room, kissed the baby in the crib, kissed his wife, and sat down again, winking at the fire.

“I wonder if He had anything to do with sending him,” he said presently, under his breath.

“Sending whom?” asked puzzled Annie.

“Business, dear, just business. I was thinking of a boy who did a little job for me to-night, that’s all.”

And that is all that she knows to this day about the man sitting in the corner, with his hat over his eyes, bound for Colorado.