"Good-bye, then--and _bon voyage_," she said, extending her hand.

He took it--hesitated just an instant--lifted it to his lips--and, then, without a word, swung around and went out into the night.

The next day--at noon--when, her breakfast finished, she came downstairs, a scare headline in the morning's paper, lying in the hall, met her eyes.
SUICIDE! Royster Found Dead in His Bath-room! The Penalty of Bankruptcy! ROYSTER & AXTELL FAIL! Many Prominent Persons Among the Creditors.

She seized the paper, and nervously ran her eyes down the columns until they reached the list of those involved.----Yes! Croyden's name was among them! That was what had taken him away!

And Croyden read it, too, as he sped Eastward toward the unknown life.

III

CLARENDON

Croyden left Northumberland in the morning--and his economy began with the ride East: he went on Day Express instead of on the Limited, thereby saving the extra fare. At Philadelphia he sent his baggage to the Bellevue-Stratford; later in the evening, he had it returned to the station, and checked it, himself, to Hampton--to avoid the possibility of being followed by means of his luggage.He did not imagine that any one would go to the trouble to trace him, but he was not taking any chances. He wanted to cut himself away, utterly, from his former life, to be free of everyone he had ever known. It was not likely he would be missed. Some one would say: "I haven't seen Croyden lately," would be answered: "I think he went abroad suddenly--about the time of the Royster & Axtell failure," and, with that, he would pass out of notice. If he were to return, any time within the next five years, he would be met by a languid: "Been away, somewhere, haven't you? I thought I hadn't noticed you around the Club, lately." --And that would be the extent of it. One is not missed in a big town. His going and his coming are not watched. There is no time to bother with another's affairs. Everyone has enough to do to look after his own. The curiosity about one's neighbors--what he wears, what he eats, what he does, every item in his daily life--that is developed by idleness, thrives in littleness, and grows to perfection in scandal and innuendo--belongs solely to the small town. If one comes down street with a grip--instantly: So and so is "going away"--speculation as to why?--where?--what? One puts on a new suit, it is observed and noted. --A pair of new shoes, ditto. --A new necktie, ditto. Every 

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