R. ALSTINE."
The young man walked from the room like one in a dream.
What did, what could it all mean? It was impossible for August to
understand.
His was a dejected mien as he walked slowly homeward. A pair of bright
eyes watched him from a curtained upper window of the great house, and in
a maiden's heart was the suddenest longing possible to one broken under
the cruel treachery of its hero.
"What is the trouble, August?" questioned Mrs. Bordine the moment he
entered the presence of his mother.
"Nothing."
"Ah, you cannot deceive me in that way, my son. I know something is
wrong, and--"
"Yes, something is wrong," he interrupted with bitter vehemence. "I have
been spat upon by a girl, and never until now did I realize what a fool I
was to think of losing my heart to a flirt like Rose Alstine."
"August, what do you mean?"
"That Rose has jilted me."
"I am glad of it."
"Mother!"
"I always warned you not to look so high," proceeded the old lady, with
arms akimbo, regarding her son. "Not that I consider Rose Alstine high
only in money matters, but such girls are always heartless.
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