As, for an instant, the two men stood in this position, one smiling, the other transfixed with wonder, there came a stifled, sobbing cry from behind.
Philip turned.

The woman stood in the lamp glow, her arms reaching out to him--to both--and never, not even at Lac Bain, had he seen a woman more beautiful than Thorpe's wife at that moment.
As if nothing had happened, he went to the table, where there was a pen and ink and a pad of paper.
"Perhaps your wife hasn't told you everything that has happened to-night, Thorpe," he said.

"If she hasn't, she will--soon.

Now, listen!" He had pulled a small book from an inner pocket and was writing.
"My name is Steele, Philip Steele, of the Royal Mounted.

Down in Chicago I've got a father, Philip Egbert Steele, a banker, who's worth half a dozen millions or so.