AUNT JANE'S NIECES IN SOCIETY

BY

EDITH VAN DYNE

1910

LIST OF CHAPTERS

CHAPTER

 I UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY II A QUESTION OF "PULL" III DIANA IV THE THREE NIECES V PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE VI THE FLY IN THE BROTH VII THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS VIII OPENING THE CAMPAIGN IX THE VON TAER PEARLS X MISLED XI LIMOUSINE XII FOGERTY XIII DIANA REVOLTS XIV A COOL ENCOUNTER XV A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE XVI MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN XVII THE MYSTERY DEEPENSXVIII A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS XIX POLITIC REPENTANCE XX A TELEPHONE CALL XXI THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS XXII GONEXXIII THE CRISIS XXIV A MATTER OF COURSE

CHAPTER I

UNCLE JOHN'S DUTY

"You're not doing your duty by those girls, John Merrick!"

The gentleman at whom this assertion was flung in a rather angry tonedid not answer his sister-in-law. He sat gazing reflectively at thepattern in the rug and seemed neither startled nor annoyed. Mrs. Merrick, a pink-cheeked middle-aged lady attired in an elaborate morninggown, knitted her brows severely as she regarded the chubby little manopposite; then, suddenly remembering that the wrinkles might leave theirdreadful mark on her carefully rolled and massaged features, shebanished them with a pass of her ringed hand and sighed dismally. 

"It would not have mattered especially had the poor children been leftin their original condition of friendless poverty, " she said. "They werethen like a million other girls, content to struggle for a respectablelivelihood and a doubtful position in the lower stratas of socialcommunion. But you interfered. You came into their lives abruptly, appearing from those horrid Western wilds with an amazing accumulationof money and a demand that your three nieces become your special_protégées_. And what is the result?"

The little man looked up with a charming smile of good humored raillery. His keen gray eyes sparkled as mischievously as a schoolboy's. Softly herubbed the palms of his hands together, as if enjoying the situation. 

"What is it, Martha, my dear? What is the result?" he asked. 

"You've raised them from their lowly condition to a sphere in which theyreign as queens, the envy of all who know them. You've lavished yourmillions upon them unsparingly; they are not only presumptive heiressesbut already possessed of independent fortunes. Ah, you think you've beengenerous to these girls; don't you, John Merrick?" "Go on, Martha; goon. "

"You've taken them abroad--you took my own daughter, John Merrick, andleft _me_ at home!--you've lugged your three nieces to the mountains andcarried them to the seashore. You even encouraged them to enlist in anunseemly campaign to elect that young imbecile, Kenneth Forbes, and--"

"Oh, Martha, Martha! Get to the point, if you can. I'm going, presently. "

"Not until you've heard me out. You've given your nieces every advantagein your power save one, and the neglect of that one thing renders futileall else you have accomplished. "

Now, indeed, her listener seemed perplexed. He passed a hand over hisshiny bald head as if to stimulate thought and exorcise bewilderment. 

"What is it, then? What have I neglected?" was his mild enquiry. 

"To give those girls their proper standing in society. "

He started; smiled; then looked grave. 

"You're talking foolishly, " he said. "Why, confound it, Martha, they'reas good girls as ever lived! They're highly respected, and--" "Sir, Irefer to Fashionable Society. " The capitals indicate the impressivemanner in which Mrs. Merrick pronounced those words. 

"I guess money makes folks fashionable; don't it, Martha?"

"No, indeed. How ignorant you are, John. Can you not understand thatthere is a cultured, aristocratic and exclusive Society in New York thatmillions will not enable one to gain _entrée_ to?"

"Oh, is there? Then I'm helpless. "

"You are not, sir. "

"Eh? I thought you said--"

"Listen, John; and for heaven's sake try for once to be receptive. I amspeaking not only for the welfare of my daughter Louise but for Bethand Patricia. Your nieces are charming girls, all three. With theadvantages you have given them they may well become social celebrities. "

"H-m-m. Would they be happier so?"

"Of course. Every true woman longs for social distinction, especially ifit seems difficult to acquire. Nothing is dearer to a girl's heart thanto win acceptance by the right social set. And New York society is themost exclusive in America. "

"I'm afraid it will continue to exclude our girls, Martha. "

"Not if you do your duty, John. "

"That reminds me. What is your idea of my duty, Martha? You've beentalking in riddles, so far, " he protested, shifting uneasily in hischair. 

"Let me explain more concisely, then. Your millions, John Merrick, havemade you really famous, even in this wealthy metropolis. In the city andat your club you must meet with men who have the _entrée_ to the mostdesirable social circles: men who might be induced to introduce yournieces to their families, whose endorsement would effect their properpresentation. "

"Nonsense. "

"It isn't nonsense at all. "

"Then blamed if I know what you're driving at. "

"You're very obtuse. "

"I won't agree to that till I know what 'obtuse' means. See here, Martha; you say this social position, that the girls are so crazyfor--but they've never said anything to _me_ about it--can't be bought. In the next breath you urge me to buy it. Phoo! You're a thoughtless, silly woman, Martha, and let your wild ambitions run away with yourcommon sense. "

Mrs. Merrick sighed, but stubbornly maintained her position. 

"I don't suggest 'buying' such people; not at all, John. It's what iscalled--ah--ah--'influence'; or, or--"

"Or 'pull. ' 'Pull' is a better word, Martha. Do you imagine there's anyvalue in social position that can be acquired by 'pull'?"

"Of course. It has to be acquired some way--if one is not born to it. Asa matter of fact, Louise is entitled, through her connection with _my_family--"

"Pshaw, I knew _your_ family, Martha, " he interrupted. "An arrant lot ofhumbugs. "

"John Merrick!"

"Don't get riled. It's the truth. I _knew_ 'em. On her father's sideLouise has just as much to brag about--an' no more. We Merricks neveramounted to much, an' didn't hanker to trip the light fantastic inswell society. Once, though, when I was a boy, I had a cousin whospelled down the whole crowd at a spellin'-bee. We were quite proud ofhim then; but he went wrong after his triumph, poor fellow! and became abook agent. Now, Martha, I imagine this talk of yours is all hot air, and worked off on me not because the girls want society, but because youwant it for 'em. It's all _your_ ambition, I'll bet a peanut. "

"You misjudge me, as usual, John. I am urging a matter of simplejustice. Your nieces are lovely girls, fitted to shine in any sphere oflife, " she continued, knowing his weak point and diplomaticallyfostering it. "Our girls have youth, accomplishments, money--everythingto fit them for social triumphs. The winter season is now approaching;the people are flocking back to town from their country homes;fashionable gaieties and notable events will soon hold full sway. Thedear girls are surely entitled to enjoy these things, don't you think?Aren't they _worthy_ the best that life has to offer? And why shouldn'tthey enter society, if you do your full duty? Once get them properlyintroduced and they will be able to hold their own with perfect ease. Give me the credit for knowing these things, John, and try to help yournieces to attain their ambition. "

"But _is_ it their ambition?" he asked, doubtfully. 

"They have not said so in words; but I can assure you it _is_ theirambition, because all three are sensible, spirited, young women, wholive in this age and not the one you yourself knew a half century or soago. "

Mr. Merrick sighed and rubbed his head again. Then he slowly rose. 

"Mornin', Martha, " he said, with a somewhat abstracted nod at hissister-in-law. "This is a new idea to me. I'll think it over. "

CHAPTER II

A QUESTION OF "PULL"

John Merrick's face was not so cheery as usual as he made his way intothe city. This suggestion of Martha Merrick's regarding his inattentionto duty to his beloved nieces was no easy nut to crack. 

He knew his sister-in-law to be a wordly-minded, frivolous woman, withmany trivial ambitions; but in this instance he had misgivings that shemight be right. What did he, John Merrick, know of select society? Apoor man, of humble origin, he had wandered into the infantile, embryoWest years ago and there amassed a fortune. When he retired and returnedto "civilization" he found his greatest reward In the discovery of threecharming nieces, all "as poor as Job's turkey" but struggling alongbravely, each in her individual characteristic way, and well worthytheir doting uncle's affectionate admiration. Mrs. Merrick had recitedsome of the advantages they had derived from the advent of this richrelative; but even she could not guess how devoted the man was to thewelfare of these three fortunate girls, nor how his kindly, simple heartresented the insinuation that he was neglecting anything that mightcontribute to their happiness. 

Possession of money had never altered John Merrick's native simplicity. He had no extravagant tastes, dressed quietly and lived the life of thepeople. On this eventful morning the man of millions took a cross-towncar to the elevated station and climbed the stairs to his train. Onceseated and headed cityward he took out his memorandum book to see whatengagements he had for the day. There were three for the afternoon. Attwelve o'clock he had promised to meet Von Taer. 

"H-m-m. Von Taer. "

Gazing reflectively from the window he remembered a conversation with aprominent banker some month or so before. "Von Taer, " the banker hadsaid, "is an aristocrat with an independent fortune, who clings to thebrokerage business because he inherited it from his father andgrandfather. I hold that such a man has no moral right to continue inbusiness. He should retire and give the other fellow a chance. "

"Why do you call him an aristocrat?" Mr. Merrick had enquired. 

"Because his family is so ancient that it shames the ark itself. Iimagine his ancestors might have furnished Noah the lumber to build hisship. In New York the '400' all kowtow to Von Taer. "

"Seems to me he has the right to be a broker if he wants to, " assertedMr. Merrick. 

"The right; yes. But, between us, Mr. Merrick, this society swell has nomental capacity to handle such an uncertain business. He's noted fordoing unwarranted things. To me it's a marvel that Von Taer hasn'tshipwrecked the family fortunes long ago. Luck has saved him, notforesight. "

That speech of a few weeks ago now seemed prophetic to John Merrick. Within a few days the aristocratic broker had encountered financialdifficulties and been forced to appeal to Mr. Merrick, to whom heobtained an introduction through a mutual friend. Von Taer wasdoubtless solvent, for he controlled large means; but unless a savinghand was extended at this juncture his losses were sure to be severe, and might even cripple him seriously. 

All this Mr. Merrick shrewdly considered in the space of a few moments. As he left the train he looked at his watch and found it was barelyeleven. He decided not to await the hour of appointment. With his usualbrisk stride he walked to Von Taer's offices and was promptly admittedto the broker's sanctum. 

Hedrik Von Taer was a fine looking man, tall, grave, of dignifieddemeanor and courteous manners. He stood until his visitor was seatedand with a gesture of deference invited him to open the conversation. 

"I've decided to make you the loan, Von Taer, " began Mr. Merrick, in hispractical, matter-of-fact way. "Three hundred thousand, wasn't it? Callon Major Doyle at my office this afternoon and he'll arrange it foryou. "

An expression of relief crossed the broker's face. 

"You are very kind, sir, " he answered. "I assure you I fully appreciatethe accommodation. "

"Glad to help you, " responded the millionaire, briskly. Then he pausedwith marked abruptness. It occurred to him he had a difficultproposition to make to this man. To avoid the cold, enquiring eyes nowfixed upon him he pulled out a cigar and deliberately cut the end. VonTaer furnished him a match. He smoked a while in silence. 

"This loan, sir, " he finally began, "is freely made. There are nostrings tied to it. I don't want you to feel I'm demanding any sort ofreturn. But the truth is, you have it in your power to grant me afavor. "

Von Taer bowed. 

"Mr. Merrick has generously placed me under an obligation it will affordme pleasure to repay, " said he. But his eyes held an uneasy look, nevertheless. 

"It's this way, " explained the other: "I've three nieces--fine girls, Von Taer--who will some day inherit my money. They are alreadyindependent, financially, and they're educated, well-bred and amiableyoung women. Take my word for it. "

"I am sure your statements are justified, Mr. Merrick. " Yet Hedrik VonTaer's face, usually unexpressive, denoted blank mystification. Whatconnection could these girls have with the favor to be demanded?

"Got any girls yourself, Von Taer?"

"A daughter, sir. My only child. 

"Grown up?"

"A young lady now, sir. "

"Then you'll understand. I'm a plain uneducated man myself. Never beenany nearer swell society than a Fifth Avenue stage. My money has givenme commercial position, but no social one worth mentioning. Your '400's'a bunch I can't break into, nohow. "

A slight smile hovered over the other's lips, but he quickly controlledit. 

"They tell me, though, " continued the speaker, "that _your_ family haslong ago climbed into the top notch of society. You're one o' the bigguns in the battery, an' hold the fort against all comers. "

Von Taer merely bowed. It was scarcely necessary to either admit orcontradict the statement. Uncle John was a little indignant that hiscompanion showed no disposition to assist him in his explanation, whicha clear head might now easily comprehend. So, with his usual frankness, he went directly to the point. 

"I'd like my girls to get into the best--the most select--circles, " heannounced. "They're good and pretty and well-mannered, so it strikes methey're entitled to the best there is a-going. I don't want to mix withyour swell crowd myself, because I ain't fit; likewise the outfit ain'tmuch to my taste, askin' your pardon; but with women it's different. They need to stand high an' shine bright to make 'em really happy, andif any special lot is particularly ex-clusive an' high-falutin', that'sthe crowd they long to swarm with. It's human nature--female humannature, anyhow. You catch my idea, Von Taer, don't you?"

"I think so, Mr. Merrick. Yet I fail to see how I can be of service toyou in gratifying the ambition of your charming nieces. " "Then I'llgo, and you may forget what I've said. " The visitor arose and took hishat from the table. "It was only a fool notion, anyway; just a thought, badly expressed, to help my girls to a toy that money can't buy. "

Hedrik Von Taer gazed steadily into the man's face. There was somethingin the simple, honest self-abnegation of this wealthy and importantperson that won the respect of all he met. The broker's stern eyessoftened a bit as he gazed and he allowed a fugitive smile, due to hisown change of attitude, to wreathe his thin lips again--just for aninstant. 

"Sit down, please, Mr. Merrick, " he requested, and rather reluctantlyUncle John resumed his seat. "You may not have an especially clear ideaof New York society, and I want to explain my recent remark so that youwill understand it. What is called 'the 400' may or may not exist; butcertainly it is no distinct league or association. It may perhaps beregarded as a figure of speech, to indicate how few are really admittedto the most exclusive circles. Moreover, there can be no dominant'leader of society' here, for the reason that not all grades of societywould recognize the supremacy of any one set, or clique. These cliquesexist for various reasons. They fraternize generally, but keep wellwithin their own circles. Kindred tastes attract some; ancient lineageothers. There is an ultra-fashionable set, a sporting set, a literaryset, an aristocratic set, a rather 'fast' set, a theatrical set--and soon. These may all lay claim with certain justice to membership in goodsociety. Their circles are to an extent exclusive, because somedistinction must mark the eligibility of members. And outside eachluminous sphere hovers a multitude eager to pass the charmed circle andso acquire recognition. Often it is hard to separate the initiate fromthe uninitiate, even by those most expert. Is it difficult to comprehendsuch a condition as I have described, Mr. Merrick?"

"Somewhat, Mr. Von Taer. The wonder to me is why people waste time insuch foolishness. "

"It is the legitimate occupation of many; the folly of unwise ambitionimpels others. There is a fascination about social life that appeals tothe majority of natures. Let us compare society to a mountain whosesides are a steep incline, difficult to mount. To stand upon thesummit, to become the cynosure of all eyes, is a desire inherent, seemingly, in all humanity; for humanity loves distinction. In thescramble toward the peak many fall by the wayside; others deceivethemselves by imagining they have attained the apex when they are farfrom it. It is a game, Mr. Merrick, just as business is a game, politicsa game, and war a game. You know how few really win. "

"Here, " said Uncle John, musingly, "is a philosophy I did not expectfrom you, Von Taer. They tell me you're one who stands on top the peak. And you were born that way, and didn't have to climb. Seems to me yourather scorn the crowd that's trying to climb to an eminence you neverhad to win. That wouldn't be my way. And I suspect that if the crowdwasn't trying to climb to you, your own position wouldn't be worth acotton hat. "

Von Taer had no answer to this criticism. Perhaps he scarcely heard it, for he appeared lost in a brown study. Finally he said: "Will youpermit my daughter to call upon your nieces, Mr. Merrick?"

"Of course, sir. "

"Then kindly give me their addresses. "

Uncle John wrote them on a slip of paper. 

"You may now dismiss the subject from your mind, sir, as you latelyadvised me to do. Whatever may be accomplished in the direction you havesuggested I will gladly undertake. If I succeed it will be exceedinglygratifying to us all, I am sure. "

Mr. Merrick left the office in a rather humbled and testy mood. Hedisliked to ask favors at any time and now felt that he had confidedhimself to the mercy of this callous aristocrat and met with a distinctrebuff. 

But he had done it for the sake of his beloved nieces--and they wouldnever know what humiliation this unsatisfactory interview had cost him. 

CHAPTER III

DIANA

Diana Von Taer can not be called a type. She was individual. Aristocratic to her finger tips, she was unlike all other aristocrats. An admitted queen of society, her subjects were few and indifferent. Shepossessed ancient lineage, was highly accomplished, had been born to thepurple, as the saying is; but none of these things conspired to make herthe curious creature she was. 

As we make her acquaintance she is twenty-three years of age--and lookseighteen. She is tall and slender and carries her handsome form withexquisite grace. Diana is never abrupt; her voice is ever modulated tosoft, even tones; she rises from a chair or couch with the lithe, sinuous motion of a serpent uncoiling. 

Her face, critically regarded, is not so admirable as her form. Thefeatures are a trifle too elongated, and their delicacy is marred by anose a bit broad and unshapely and a mouth with thin lips primly set. Her dark eyes might be magnificent if wide open: but through the narrowslits of their lids, half hidden by long curling lashes, the eyes peerat you with a cold, watchful, intent gaze that carries a certain uncannyand disconcerting fascination. 

Yet the girl is essentially feminine. If you refrain from meeting thatdiscomfiting gaze--and her familiars have learned to avoid it--Dianaimpresses you as being graceful, dainty and possessed of charmingmanners. Her taste in dress is perfect. She converses fluently on manytopics. It is her custom to rise at ten o'clock, whatever time she mayhave retired the night before; to read until luncheon; to devote theremainder of her day to the requirements of society. 

Eligible young men of admitted social standing call upon Diana at suchintervals as the proprieties require. They chatter "small talk" and arecareful to address her with deference. With an exception to be referredto later these young men have no more thought of "flirting" with MissVon Taer than they would with the statue of the goddess, her namesake. Her dinner parties and entertainments are very successful. She isgreatly admired, _per se_, but has no intimate friends. 

When her mother died, some years before, an aunt had come to live withDiana, and now posed as her chaperon. Mrs. Cameron was a stolid, corpulent lady, with a countenance perpetually placid and an habitualaversion to displaying intellect. Her presence in the establishment, although necessary, was frankly ignored. Fortunately she never obtrudedherself. 

Hedrik Von Taer was passionately devoted to his daughter. He alone, perhaps, of all the world, thoroughly understood her and appreciated hertalents. She may have frightened him at times, but that only added tohis admiration. In return Diana displayed a calm, but affectionateregard for her father. 

Often after dinner these two would pass an hour together in a corner ofthe drawing-room, where the cold gray eyes of the man met the intent, half-veiled glance of the girl with perfect understanding. They talkedof many things, including business. Hedrik had no secrets from hisdaughter. The desperate condition of his finances, when he had beencaught in a "corner" on wheat and nearly crushed, had not dismayed herin the least. It was she who had counseled him to appeal to JohnMerrick, since the name and fame of the eccentric millionaire werefamiliar to her as to him. 

He related to Diana his interview with Mr. Merrick on his return home. He was saved. The three hundred thousand were now in the bank to hiscredit and he could weather the coming storm easily--perhaps withprofit. In a tone half amused, half serious, he told her of the littlemillionaire's desire to secure _entrée_ into good society for his threenieces. 

Diana laughed with her lips; her eyes never laughed. Then she took inher hand the paper containing the addresses of the three girls andregarded it thoughtfully. 

"It is a curious request, _mon pere_, " she said, in her soft, eventones; "but one we cannot diplomatically disregard. Provided, however--"

"Yes, Diana;" as she paused. 

"Provided these prospective _debutantes_ are not wholly impossible. "

"I realize that, " returned her father. "John Merrick is a great power inthe city. He has been useful to me, and may be again. I have this chanceto win him. But the man is very common clay, despite his wealth, and histhree nieces are likely to be made of the same material. Should theyprove impossible you cannot well descend to introducing them to ourset. "

"I am not certain of that, sir, " said the girl, with a pretty shrug. "Myposition is too secure to be jeopardized by any error of this sort. Ibelieve I may introduce these girls without risk. I shall not vouch forthem too strongly, and after their debut they must stand or fall ontheir own merits. "

"It is something a Von Taer has never yet done, " remarked the man, gravely. 

"To commercialize his social position? But, father dear, the age is fastcommercializing everything. I think our especial set is as yetcomparatively free from contamination by the 'lately rich'; but evenamong us money has glossed many offenses that a generation ago wouldhave meant social ostracism. "

He nodded. 

"That is true, Diana. "

"Life with me is a bit dull, as well. Everlasting routine, howeveradmirable, is tiresome. I scent amusement in this adventure, which Ihave decided to undertake. With your permission I will see these girlsand quickly decide their fate. Should they prove not too dreadfully_outré_ you may look to see them my especial _protégés_. "

"I leave all to your discretion, Diana, " returned Von Taer, with a sigh. "If, in the end, some of the more particular venture to reproach them. "

"It will not matter, " interrupted the daughter, lightly, as her darkeyes narrowed to a hair's breadth. "Any who dares reproach Diana VonTaer will afford her interesting occupation. And to offset that remotecontingency we shall permanently enslave the powerful John Merrick. Iunderstand he is hard as nails in financial matters; but to us the manhas disclosed his one weakness--ambition to promote his three nieces. Since we have discovered this vulnerable point, let us take advantage ofit. I am satisfied the loan of three hundred thousand was but alure--and how cleverly the man gauged us!"

Von Taer scowled. 

"Get your wraps, Diana. The carriage is waiting, and we are due at Mrs. Doldringham's crush. "

CHAPTER IV

THE THREE NIECES

The Von Taers did not affect motor cars. In some circles the carriageand pair is still considered the more aristocratic mode of conveyance. Established customs do not readily give way to fads and freaks. 

Consulting her memoranda as she rode along; in her handsome, tastefullyappointed equipage, Diana found that Louise Merrick, one of the threegirls she had set out to discover, was the nearest on her route. Presently she rang the bell at the Merrick residence, an eminentlyrespectable dwelling; in a desirable neighborhood. 

Diana could not resist a sigh of relief as her observant glance notedthis detail. A dignified butler ushered her into a reception room anddeparted with her card. 

It was now that the visitor's nose took an upward tendency as shecritically examined her surroundings. The furnishings were abominable, amixture of distressingly new articles with those evidently procuredfrom dealers in "antiquities. " Money had been lavished here, but goodtaste was absent. To understand this--for Miss Von Taer gauged thecondition truly--it is necessary to know something of Mrs. MarthaMerrick. 

This lady, the relict of John Merrick's only brother, was endowed with amediocre mind and a towering ambition. When left a widow with an onlydaughter she had schemed and contrived in endless ways to maintain anappearance of competency on a meager income. Finally she divided hercapital, derived from her husband's life insurance, into three equalparts, which she determined to squander in three years in an attempt tohoodwink the world with the belief that she was wealthy. Before thethree years were ended her daughter Louise would be twenty, and by thattime she must have secured a rich _parti_ and been safely married. Inreturn for this "sacrifice" the girl was to see that her mother was madecomfortable thereafter. 

This worldly and foolish design was confided to Louise when she was onlyseventeen, and her unformed mind easily absorbed her mother's sillyambition. It was a pity, for Louise Merrick possessed a nature sweetand lovable, as well as instinctively refined--a nature derived from herdead father and with little true sympathy with Mrs. Merrick'sunscrupulous schemes. But at that age a girl is easily influenced, so itis little wonder that under such tuition Louise became calculating, slyand deceitful, to a most deplorable degree. 

Such acquired traits bade fair in the end to defeat Mrs. Merrick'scarefully planned _coup_, for the daughter had a premature love affairwith a youth outside the pale of eligibility. Louise ignored the factthat he had been disinherited by his father, and in her recklessinfatuation would have sacrificed her mother without thought or remorse. The dreadful finale had only been averted by the advent of Uncle JohnMerrick, who had changed the life plans of the widow and her heedlessdaughter and promptly saved the situation. 

John Merrick did not like his sister-in-law, but he was charmed by hislovely niece and took her at once to his affectionate old heart. He sawthe faults of Louise clearly, but also appreciated her sweeterqualities. Under his skillful guidance she soon redeemed herself andregained control of her better nature. The girl was not yet perfect, byany means; she was to an extent artificial and secretive, and herthoughtless flirtations were far from wise; but her two cousins and heruncle had come to know and understand her good points. They not onlybore patiently with her volatile nature but strove to influence her todemonstrate her inherent good qualities. 

In one way her mother's calculating training had been most effective. Louise was not only a dainty, lovely maid to the eye, but her mannerswere gracious and winning and she had that admirable self-possessionwhich quickly endears one even to casual acquaintances. She did notimpress more intimate friends as being wholly sincere, yet there wasnothing in her acts, since that one escapade referred to, that meritedsevere disapproval. 

Of course the brilliant idea of foisting her precious daughter upon the"select" society of the metropolis was original with Mrs. Merrick. Louise was well content with things as they were; but not so themother. The rise from poverty to affluence, the removal of all cares andburdens from her mind, had merely fostered still greater ambitions. Uncle John's generosity had endowed each of his three nieces with anample fortune. "I want 'em to enjoy the good things of life whilethey're at an age to enjoy 'em, " he said; "for the older one gets thefewer things are found to be enjoyable. That's my experience, anyhow. "He also told the girls frankly that they were to inheritjointly--although not equally--his entire fortune. Yet even this glowingprospect did not satisfy Mrs. Merrick. Since all her plans for Louise, from the very beginning, had been founded on personal selfishness, shenow proposed to have her daughter gain admission to recognizedfashionable society in order that she might herself bask in thereflection of the glory so obtained and take her place with the proudmatrons who formed the keystone of such society. After carefullyconsidering ways and means to gain her object she had finally conceivedthe idea of utilizing Mr. Merrick. She well knew Uncle John would notconsider one niece to the exclusion of the others, and had thereforeused his influence to get all three girls properly "introduced. "Therefore her delight and excitement were intense when the butlerbrought up Diana's card and she realized that "the perfectly swell MissVon Taer" was seated in her reception room. She rushed to Louise, who, wholly innocent of any knowledge of the intrigue which had led to thisclimax, opened her blue eyes in astonishment and said with a gasp:

"Oh, mother! what shall I do?"

"Do? Why, go down and make yourself agreeable, of course. It's yourchance, my dear, your great chance in life! Go--go! Don't, for heaven'ssake, keep her waiting. "

Louise went down. In her most affable and gracious way she approachedthe visitor and said:

"It is very nice of you to call upon me. I am _so_ glad to meet Miss VonTaer. " Diana, passing conversational nothings with the young girl, waspleased by her appearance and self-possession. This aspirant for socialhonors was fresh, fair and attractive, with a flow of small talk at hertongue's end. 

"Really, " thought the fastidious visitor, "this one, at least, will dome no discredit. If she is a fair sample of the others we shall getalong very nicely In this enterprise. "

To Louise she said, before going:

"I'm to have an evening, the nineteenth. Will you assist me to receive?Now that we are acquainted I wish to see more of you, my dear, and Ipredict we shall get along famously together. "

The girl's head swam. Help Miss Von Taer to receive! Such an honor hadbeen undreamed of an hour ago. But she held her natural agitation undergood control and only a round red spot Upon each cheek betrayed herinward excitement as she prettily accepted the invitation. Beneath theirdrooping lashes Diana's sagacious eyes read the thoughts of the girlquite accurately. Miss Von Taer enjoyed disconcerting anyone in any way, and Louise was so simple and unsophisticated that she promised to affordconsiderable amusement in the future. 

By the time Diana had finished her brief call this singular creature hadtaken the measure of Louise Merrick in every detail, including herassumption of lightness and her various frivolities. She understood thatin the girl were capabilities for good or for evil, as she might be ledby a stronger will. And, musingly, Diana wondered who would lead her. 

As for Louise, she was enraptured by her distinguished visitor'scondescension and patronage, and her heart bounded at the thought ofbeing admitted to the envied social coterie in which Diana Von Taershone a bright, particular star. 

The second name in the list of John Merrick's nieces was that ofElizabeth De Graf. She lived at a good private hotel located in anexclusive residence district. 

It was true that Elizabeth--or "Beth, " as she was more familiarlycalled--was not a permanent guest at this hotel. When in New York shewas accustomed to live with one or the other of her cousins, whowelcomed her eagerly. But just now her mother had journeyed from the oldOhio home to visit Beth, and the girl had no intention of inflictingher parent upon the other girls. Therefore she had taken rooms at thehotel temporarily, and the plan suited her mother excellently. For onething, Mrs. De Graf could go home and tell her Cloverton gossips thatshe had stopped at the most "fashionable" hotel in New York; a secondpoint was that she loved to feast with epicurean avidity upon theproducts of a clever _chef_, being one of those women who live to eat, rather than eat to live. 

Mrs. De Graf was John Merrick's only surviving sister, but she differedas widely from the simple, kindly man in disposition as did heringenious daughter from her in mental attainments. The father, ProfessorDe Graf, was supposed to be a "musical genius. " Before Beth came intoher money, through Uncle John, the Professor taught the piano andsinging; now, however, the daughter allowed her parents a liberalincome, and the self-engrossed musician devoted himself to composingoratorios and concertas which no one but himself would ever play. Tobe quite frank, the girl cared little for her gross and selfish parents, and they in turn cared little for her beyond the value she afforded themin the way of dollars and cents. So she had not lived at home, whereconstant quarrels and bickerings nearly drove her frantic, since UncleJohn had adopted her. In catering to this present whim of her mother, who longed to spend a few luxurious weeks in New York, Beth sacrificedmore than might be imagined by one unacquainted with her sad familyhistory. 

Whimsical Major Doyle often called Uncle John's nieces "the ThreeGraces"; but Beth was by odds the beauty of them all. Splendid browneyes, added to an exquisite complexion, almost faultless features and asuperb carriage, rendered this fair young girl distinguished in anythrong. Fortunately she was as yet quite unspoiled, being saved fromvanity by a morbid consciousness of her inborn failings and a sincereloathing for the moral weakness that prevented her from correcting thosefaults. Judging Beth by the common standard of girls of her age, bothfailings and faults were more imaginary than real; yet it was hercharacteristic to suspect and despise in herself such weaknesses asothers would condone, or at least regard leniently. For here was a girltrue and staunch, incapable of intrigue or deceit, frank and outspoken, all these qualities having been proven more than once. Everyone lovedBeth De Graf save herself, and at this stage of her development theinfluence of her cousins and of Uncle John had conspired to make thesupersensitive girl more tolerant of herself and less morbid thanformerly. 

I think Beth knew of Diana Von Taer, for the latter's portraitfrequently graced the society columns of the New York press and at timesthe three nieces, in confidential mood, would canvass Diana and hersocial exploits as they did the acts of other famous semi-publicpersonages. But the girl had never dreamed of meeting such a celebrity, and Miss Von Taer's card filled her with curious wonder as to the errandthat had brought her. 

The De Grafs lived _en suite_ at the hotel, for Beth had determined tosurround her Sybaritic mother with all attainable luxury, since thechild frequently reproached herself with feeling a distinct repulsionfor the poor woman. So to-day Diana was ushered into a pretty parlorwhere Beth stood calmly awaiting her. 

The two regarded one another in silence a moment, Miss De Graf's frankeyes covering the other with a comprehensive sweep while Miss Von Taer'snarrowed gaze, profoundly observant, studied the beautiful girl beforeher with that impenetrable, half-hidden gleam that precluded anysolution. 

"Miss Von Taer, I believe, " said Beth, quietly glancing at the card sheheld. "Will you be seated?"

Diana sank gracefully into a chair. The sinuous motion attracted Beth'sattention and gave her a slight shiver. 

"I am so glad to meet you, my dear, " began the visitor, in soft, purringaccents. "I have long promised myself the pleasure of a call, and inspite of many procrastinations at last have accomplished my ambition. "

Beth resented the affectation of this prelude, and slightly frowned. Diana was watching; she always watched. "Why should you wish to callupon me?" was the frank demand. "Do not think me rude, please; but I amscarcely in a position to become a desirable acquaintance of Miss VonTaer. " The tone was a trifle bitter, and Diana noted it. A subtileantagonism seemed springing up between them and the more experiencedgirl scented in this danger to her plans. She must handle this younglady more cautiously than she had Louise Merrick. 

"Your position is unimpeachable, my dear, " was the sweet-toned response. "You are John Merrick's niece. "

Beth was really angry now. She scowled, and it spoiled her beauty. Dianatook warning and began to think quickly. 

"I referred to my social position, Miss Von Taer. Our family is honestenough, thank God; but it has never been accepted in what is termedselect society. "

Diana laughed; a quiet, rippling laugh as icy as a brook in November, but as near gaiety as she could at the moment accomplish. When shelaughed this way her eyes nearly closed and became inscrutable. Bethhad a feeling of repulsion for her caller, but strove to shake it off. Miss Von Taer was nothing to her; could be nothing to her. 

"Your uncle is a very wealthy man, " said Diana, with easy composure. "Hehas made you an heiress, placing you in a class much sought after inthese mercenary days. But aside from that, my dear, your personalaccomplishments have not escaped notice, and gossip declares you to be avery fascinating young woman, as well as beautiful and good. I do notimagine society claims to be of divine origin, but were it so no one ismore qualified to grace it. "

The blandishments of this speech had less effect upon Beth than theevident desire to please. She began to feel she had been ungracious, andstraightway adopted a more cordial tone. 

"I am sure you mean well, Miss Von Taer, " she hastened to say, "and Iassure you I am not ungrateful. But it occurred to me we could havenothing in common. " "Oh, my dear! You wrong us both. "

"Do you know my uncle?" enquired Beth. 

"He is the friend of my father, Mr. Hedrik Von Taer. Our family owes Mr. John Merrick much consideration. Therefore I decided to seek pleasure inthe acquaintance of his nieces. "

The words and tone seemed alike candid. Beth began to relent. She satdown for the first time, taking a chair opposite Diana. 

"You see, " she said, artlessly, "I have no personal inclination forsociety, which is doubtless so large a part of your own amusement. Itseems to me artificial and insipid. "

"Those who view from a distance the husk of a cocoanut, have little ideaof the milk within, " declared Diana, softly. 

"True, " answered Beth. "But I've cracked cocoanuts, and sometimes foundthe milk sour and tainted. "

"The difference you observe in cocoanuts is to be found in the variousgrades of society. These are not all insipid and artificial, I assureyou. "

"They may be worse, " remarked Beth. "I've heard strange tales of yourorgies. " Diana was really amused. This girl was proving moreinteresting than the first niece she had interviewed. Unaccustomed toseeking acquaintances outside her own exclusive circle, and under suchcircumstances, these meetings were to her in the nature of an adventure. A creature of powerful likes and dislikes, she already hated Beth mostheartily; but for that very reason she insisted on cultivating herfurther acquaintance. 

"You must not judge society by the mad pranks of a few of its members, "she responded, in her most agreeable manner. "If we are not to set anexample in decorum to the rest of the world we are surely unfitted tooccupy the high place accorded us. But you must see and decide foryourself. "

"I? No, indeed!"

"Ah, do not decide hastily, my dear. Let me become your sponsor for ashort time, until you really discover what society is like. Then you mayact upon more mature judgment. "

"I do not understand you, Miss Von Taer. "

"Then I will be more explicit. I am to receive a few friends at my homeon the evening of the nineteenth; will you be my guest?" Beth waspuzzled how to answer. The thought crossed her mind that perhaps UncleJohn would like her to be courteous to his friend's daughter, and thatargument decided her. She accepted the invitation. 

"I want you to receive with me, " continued Diana, rising. "In that way Ishall be able to introduce you to my friends. "

Beth wondered at this condescension, but consented to receive. She wasannoyed to think how completely she had surrendered to the will of MissVon Taer, for whom she had conceived the same aversion she had for asnake. She estimated Diana, society belle though she was, to be sly, calculating and deceitful. Worse than all, she was decidedly clever, andtherefore dangerous. Nothing good could come of an acquaintance withher, Beth was sure; yet she had pledged herself to meet her and herfriends the nineteenth, lit a formal society function. How much Beth DeGraf misjudged Diana Von Taer the future will determine. The interviewhad tired Diana. As she reentered her carriage she was undecided whetherto go home or hunt up the third niece. But Willing Square was not fiveminutes' drive from here, so she ordered the coachman to proceed there. 

"I am positively out of my element in this affair, " she told herself, "for it is more difficult to cultivate these inexperienced girls than Ihad thought. They are not exactly impossible, as I at first feared, butthey are so wholly unconventional as to be somewhat embarrassing as_protégées_. Analyzing the two I have met--the majority--one strikes meas being transparently affected and the other a stubborn, attractivefool. They are equally untrained in diplomacy and unable to cover theirreal feelings. Here am I, practically dragging them into the limelight, when it would be far better for themselves--perhaps for me--that theyremained in oblivion. Ah, well: I called it an adventure: let me hopesome tangible plot will develop to compensate me for my trouble. Lifeseems deadly dull; I need excitement. Is it to be furnished by JohnMerrick's nieces, I wonder?" Willing Square is a new district, crowdedwith fashionable apartment houses. That is, they are called fashionableby their builders and owners and accepted as such by their would-befashionable occupants. Diana knew at least two good families resident inWilling Square, and though she smiled grimly at the rows of"oppressively new and vulgar" buildings, she still was not ashamed tohave her equipage seen waiting there. 

Number 3708 Willing Square is a very substantial and cozy appearingapartment building owned in fee by Miss Patricia Doyle. Diana wasunaware of this fact, but rang the Doyle bell and ascended to the secondfloor. 

A maid received her with the announcement that Miss Doyle had "juststepped out, " but was somewhere in the building. Would the visitor careto wait a few minutes?

Yes; Diana decided she would wait. She took a seat in the snug frontparlor and from her position noted the series of rooms that opened oneinto another throughout the suite, all richly but tastefully furnishedin homely, unassuming manner. "This is better, " she mused. "There isno attempt at foolish display in this establishment, at any rate. I hopeto find Miss Doyle a sensible, refined person. The name is Irish. "

A door slammed somewhere down the line of rooms and a high-pitched voicecried in excited tones:

"I've found a baby! Hi, there, Nunkie, dear--I've found a baby!"

Thereupon came the sound of a chair being pushed back as a man's voiceanswered in equal glee:

"Why, Patsy, Patsy! it's the little rogue from upstairs. Here, Bobby;come to your own old Uncle!"

"He won't. He belongs to me; don't you, Bobby darlin'?"

A babyish voice babbled merrily, but the sounds were all "goos" and"ahs" without any resemblance to words. Bobby may have imagined he wastalking, but he was not very intelligible. 

"See here, Patsy Doyle; you gimme that baby. " cried the man, pleadingly. "I found him myself, and he's mine. I've dragged him here all the wayfrom his home upstairs, an' don't you dare lay a finger on him. UncleJohn!"

"Fair play, Patsy! Bobby's my chum, and--"

"Well, I'll let you have half of him, Nunkie. Down on your hands andknees, sir, and be a horse. That's it--Now, Bobby, straddle Uncle Johnand drive him by his necktie--here it is. S-t-e-a-d-y, Uncle; andneigh--neigh like a horse!"

"How does a horse neigh, Patsy?" asked a muffled voice, choking andchuckling at the same time. 

"'Nee, hee-hee--hee; hee!'"

Uncle John tried to neigh, and made a sorry mess of it, although Bobbyshrieked with delight. 

Then came a sudden hush. Diana caught the maid's voice, perhapsannouncing the presence of a visitor, for Patsy cried in subduedaccents:

"Goodness me, Mary! why didn't you say so? Listen, Uncle John--"

"Leggo that ear, Bobby--leggo!"

"--You watch the baby, Uncle John, and don't let anything happen tohim. I've got a caller. "

Diana smiled, a bit scornfully, and then composed her features as ayoung girl bustled into the room and came toward her with frankcordiality indicated in the wide smile and out-stretched hand. 

"Pardon my keeping you waiting, " said Patsy, dropping into a chairopposite her visitor, "Uncle John and I were romping with the baby fromupstarts--Bobby's such a dear! I didn't quite catch the name Mary gaveme and forgot to look at your card. "

"I am Miss Von Taer. "

"Not Diana Von Taer, the swell society girl?" cried Patsy eagerly. 

Diana couldn't remember when she had been so completely nonplusedbefore. After an involuntary gasp she answered quietly:

"I am Diana Von Taer. "

"Well, I'm glad to meet you, just the same, " said Patsy, cheerfully. "Weoutsiders are liable to look on society folk as we would on a cage ofmonkeys--because we're so very ignorant, you know, and the bars arereally between us. " This frank disdain verged on rudeness, althoughthe girl had no intention of being rude. Diana was annoyed in spite ofher desire to be tolerant. 

"Perhaps the bars are imaginary, " she rejoined, carelessly, "and it maybe you've been looking at the side-show and not at the entertainment inthe main tent. Will you admit that possibility, Miss Doyle?"

Patsy laughed gleefully. 

"I think you have me there, Miss Von Taer. And what do _I_ know aboutsociety? Just nothing at all. It's out of my line entirely. "

"Perhaps it is, " was the slow response. "Society appeals to only thosewhose tastes seem to require it. "

"And aren't we drawing distinctions?" enquired Miss Doyle. "Society atlarge is the main evidence of civilization, and all decent folk aremembers of it. "

"Isn't that communism?" asked Diana. 

"Perhaps so. It's society at large. But certain classes have leaguedtogether and excluded themselves from their fellows, admitting onlythose of their own ilk. The people didn't put them on theirpedestals--they put themselves there. Yet the people bow down andworship these social gods and seem glad to have them. The newspapersprint their pictures and the color of their gowns and how they do theirhair and what they eat and what they do, and the poor washwomen andshop-girls and their like read these accounts more religiously than theydo their bibles. My maid Mary's a good girl, but she grabs the societysheet of the Sunday paper and reads it from top to bottom. I never lookat it myself. "

Diana's cheeks were burning. She naturally resented such ridicule, having been born to regard social distinction with awe and reverence. Inwardly resolving to make Miss Patricia Doyle regret the speech she hidall annoyance under her admirable self-control and answered with smoothcomplacency:

"Your estimate of society, my dear Miss Doyle, is superficial. "

"Don't I know it, then?" exclaimed Patsy. "Culture and breeding, similarity of taste and intellectual pursuits will always attractcertain people and band them together in those cliques which are called'social sets, ' They are not secret societies; they have no rules ofexclusion; congenial minds are ever welcome to their ranks. This is anatural coalition, in no way artificial. Can you not appreciate that, Miss Doyle?"

"Yes, indeed, " admitted Patsy, promptly. "You're quite right, and I'mjust one of those stupid creatures who criticise the sun because there'sa cloud before it. Probably there are all grades of society, becausethere are all grades of people. "

"I thought you would agree with me when you understood, " murmured Diana, and her expression was so smug and satisfied that Patsy was seized withan irresistible spirit of mischief. 

"And haven't I seen your own pictures in the Sunday papers?" she asked. 

"Perhaps; if you robbed your maid of her pleasure. "

"And very pretty pictures they were, too. They showed culture andbreeding all right, and the latest style in gowns. Of course thoseintellectual high-brows in your set didn't need an introduction to you;you were advertised as an example of ultra-fashionable perfection, tospur the ambition of those lower down in the social scale. Perhaps it'sa good thing. "

"Are you trying to annoy me?" demanded Diana, her eyes glaring undertheir curling lashes. 

"Dear me--dear me!" cried Patsy, distressed, "see how saucy and impudentI've been--and I didn't mean a bit of it! Won't you forgive me, please, Miss Von Taer? There! we'll begin all over again, and I'll be on my goodbehavior. I'm so very ignorant, you know!"

Diana smiled at this; it would be folly to show resentment to such achildish creature. 

"Unfortunately, " she said, "I have been unable to escape the vulgarpublicity thrust upon me by the newspapers. The reporters are preyingvultures, rapacious for sensation, and have small respect for anyone. Iam sure we discourage them as much as we can. I used to weep withmortification when I found myself 'written up'; now, however, I havelearned to bear such trials with fortitude--if not with resignation. ""Forgive me!" said Patsy, contritely. "Somehow I've had a false idea ofthese things. If I knew you better, Miss Von Taer, you'd soon convert meto be an admirer of society. "

"I'd like to do that, Miss Doyle, for you interest me. Will you returnmy call?"

"Indeed I will, " promised the girl, readily. "I'm flattered that youcalled on me at all, Miss Von Taer, for you might easily have amusedyourself better. You must be very busy, with all the demands societymakes on one. When shall I come? Make it some off time, when we won't bedisturbed. "

Diana smiled at her eagerness. How nescient the poor little thing was!

"Your cousins, Miss Merrick and Miss De Graf, have consented to receivewith me on the evening of the nineteenth. Will you not join us?"

"Louise and Beth!" cried Patsy, astounded. 

"Isn't it nice of them? And may I count upon you, also?"

Patsy smiled dubiously into the other's face. 

"Let me out of it!" she said. "Can't you see I'm no butterfly?"

Diana saw many things, having taken a shrewd account of the girl longbefore this. Miss Patricia Doyle was short and plump, with a round, merry face covered with freckles, hair indisputably red and a_retroussé_ nose. Also she possessed a pair of wonderful blue eyes--eyesthat danced and scintillated with joyous good humor--eyes so captivatingthat few ever looked beyond them or noted the plain face theyglorified. But the critic admitted that the face was charminglyexpressive, the sweet and sensitive mouth always in sympathy with thetwinkling, candid eyes. Life and energy radiated from her small person, which Miss Von Taer grudgingly conceded to possess unusual fascination. Here was a creature quite imperfect in detail, yet destined to allureand enchant whomsoever she might meet. All this was quite the reverse ofDiana's own frigid personality. Patsy would make an excellent foil forher. 

"As you please, my dear, " she said graciously; "but do you not think itwould amuse you to make your debut in society--unimpeachablesociety--and be properly introduced to the occupants of the 'pedestals, 'as your cousins will be?"

Patsy reflected. If Beth and Louise had determined to undertake thisventure why should she hold back? Moreover, she experienced a girlishand wholly natural curiosity to witness a fashionable gathering and"size up" the lions for herself. So she said:

"I'll come, if you really want me; and I'll try my best to behavenicely. But I can't imagine why you have chosen to take us three girlsunder your wing; unless--" with sudden intuition, "it's for Uncle John'ssake. "

"That was it, at first, " replied Diana, rising to go; "but now that I'veseen you I'm delighted to have you on your own account. Come early, dear; we must be ready to receive our guests by nine. "

"Nine o'clock!" reflected Patsy, when her visitor had gone; "why, I'moften in bed by that time. "

CHAPTER V

PREPARING FOR THE PLUNGE

John Merrick lived with the Doyles at their Willing Square apartments. There were but two of the Doyles--Patricia and her father, Major Doyle, a tall, handsome, soldierly man with white moustache and hair. The Majorwas noted as a "character, " a keen wit and a most agreeable type of the"old Irish gentleman. " He fairly worshipped his daughter, and no oneblamed him for it. His business, as special agent and manager for hisbrother-in-law's millions, kept the Major closely occupied and affordedJohn Merrick opportunity to spend his days as be pleased. The rich manwas supposed to be "retired, " yet the care of his investments and incomewas no light task, as the Major found. 

We are accustomed to regard extreme wealth as the result of hard-headedshrewdness, not wholly divorced from unscrupulous methods, yet no onecould accuse John Merrick or his representative with being other thankindly, simple-hearted and honest. Uncle John says that he neverintended to "get rich"; it was all the result of carelessness. He hadbeen so immersed in business that he failed to notice how fast hisfortune was growing. When he awoke to a realization of his immenseaccumulation he promptly retired, appointing Major Doyle to look afterhis investments and seeking personal leisure after many years of hardwork. He instructed his agent to keep his income from growing into morecapital by rendering wise assistance to all worthy charities andindividuals, and this, as you may suppose, the Major found a herculeantask. Often he denounced Uncle John for refusing to advise him, claimingthat the millionaire had selfishly thrust the burden of his wealth onthe Major's broad shoulders. While there was an element of truth in thisthe burden it was not so heavy as to make the old soldier unhappy, andthe two men loved and respected one another with manly cordiality. 

Patricia was recognized as Uncle John's favorite niece and it wasunderstood she was to inherit the bulk of his property, although somemillions might be divided between Beth and Louise "if they marriedwisely. " Neither Uncle John nor the Major ever seemed to considerPatsy's marrying; she was such a child that wedlock for her seemed aremote possibility. 

The Sunday afternoon following Diana Von Taer's visit to the threenieces found the girls all congregated in Patsy's own room, where anearnest discussion was being conducted. That left Uncle John to take hisafter-dinner nap in the big Morris chair in the living room, where MajorDoyle sat smoking-sulkily while he gazed from the window and begrudgedthe moments Patsy was being kept from him. 

Finally the door opened and the three girls trooped out. 

"Huh! Is the conspiracy all cut-an'-dried?" growled the Major. 

Uncle John woke up with a final snort, removed the newspaper from hisface and sat up. He smiled benignantly upon his nieces. 

"It's all your fault, sor!" declared Major Doyle, selecting the littlemillionaire as the safest recipient of his displeasure. "Yourfoolishness has involved us all in this dreadful complication. Why onearth couldn't you leave well-enough alone?"

Uncle John received the broadside with tolerant equanimity. 

"What's wrong; my dears?" he enquired, directing his mild glance towardthe bevy of young girls. 

"I am unaware that anything is wrong, Uncle, " replied Louise gravely. "But since we are about to make our debut in society it is natural weshould have many things to discuss that would prove quite uninterestingto men. Really, Uncle John, this is a great event--perhaps the mostimportant event of our lives. "

"Shucks an' shoestrings!" grunted the Major. "What's in thispaper-shelled, painted, hollow thing ye call 'society' to interest threehealthy, wide-awake girls? Tell me that!"

"You don't understand, dear, " said Patsy, soothing him with a kiss. 

"I think he does, " remarked Beth, with meditative brows. "Modern societyis a man-made--or woman-made--condition, to a large extent artificial, selfish and unwholesome. "

"Oh, Beth!" protested Louise. "You're talking like a rank socialist. Ican understand common people sneering at society, which is so far out oftheir reach; but a girl about to be accepted in the best circles has noright to rail at her own caste. "

"There can be no caste in America, " declared Beth, stubbornly. 

"But there _is_ caste in America, and will be so long as theexclusiveness of society is recognized by the people at large, "continued Louise. "If it is a 'man-made condition' isn't it the mostrespected, most refined, most desirable condition that one may attainto?"

"There are plenty of honest and happy people in the world who ignoresociety altogether, " answered Beth. "It strikes me that your socialstars are mighty few in the broad firmament of humanity. "

"But they're stars, for all that, dear, " said Uncle John, smiling at herwith a hint of approval in his glance, yet picking up the argument; "andthey look mighty big and bright to the crowd below. It's quite natural. You can't keep individuals from gaining distinction, even in America. There are few generals in an army, for instance; and they're 'man-made';but that's no reason the generals ain't entitled to our admiration. "

"Let's admire 'em, then--from a distance, " retorted the Major, realizingthe military simile was employed to win his sympathy. 

"Certain things, my dear Major, are naturally dear to a girl's heart, "continued Uncle John, musingly; "and we who are not girls have no rightto condemn their natural longings. Girls love dancing, pink teas andfudge-parties, and where can they find 'em in all their perfection butin high society? Girls love admiration and flirtations--you do, mydears; you can't deny it--and the male society swells have the most timeto devote to such things. Girls love pretty dresses--"

"Oh, Uncle! you've hit the nail on the head now, " exclaimed Patsy, laughing. "We must all have new gowns for this reception, and as we'reto assist Miss Von Taer the dresses must harmonize, so to speak, and--and--" "And be quite suited to the occasion, " broke in Louise;"and--"

"And wear our lives out with innumerable fittings, " concluded Beth, gloomily. 

"But why new dresses?" demanded the Major. "You've plenty of old onesthat are clean and pretty, I'm sure; and our Patsy had one from thedressmaker only last week that's fit for a queen. "

"Oh, Daddy! you don't understand, " laughed Patsy. 

"This time, Major, I fear you don't, " agreed Beth. "Your convictionsregarding society may be admirable, but you're weak on the gownquestion. "

"If the women would only listen to me, " began the Major, dictatorially;but Uncle John cut him short. 

"They won't, sir; they'll listen to no man when it comes todressmaking. "

"Don't they dress to captivate the men, then?" asked the Major, withfine sarcasm. 

"Not at all, " answered Louise, loftily. "Men seldom know what a womanhas on, if she looks nice; but women take in every detail of dress andcriticise it severely if anything happens to be out of date, illfitting or in bad taste. "

"Then they're in bad taste themselves!" retorted the Major, hotly. 

"Tut-tut, sir; who are you to criticise woman's ways?" asked Uncle John, much amused. The Major was silenced, but he glared as if unconvinced. 

"Dressmaking is a nuisance, " remarked Beth, placidly; "but it's thepenalty we pay for being women. "

"You're nothing but slips o' girls, not out of your teens, " grumbled theMajor. And no one paid any attention to him. 

"We want to do you credit, Uncle John, " said Patsy, brightly. "Perhapsour names will be in the papers. "

"They're there already, " announced Mr. Merrick, picking up the Sundaypaper that lay beside him. 

A chorus of exclamations was followed by a dive for the paper, and eventhe Major smiled grimly as he observed the three girlish heads closetogether and three pair of eager eyes scanning swiftly the societycolumns. 

"Here it is!" cried Patsy, dancing up and down like a school-girl; andLouise read in a dignified voice--which trembled slightly withexcitement and pleasure--the following item:

"Miss Von Taer will receive next Thursday evening at the family mansionin honor of Miss Merrick, Miss Doyle and Miss De Graf. These threecharming _debutantes_ are nieces of John Merrick, the famous tin-platemagnate. "

"Phoo!" growled the Major, during the impressive hush that followed;"that's it, exactly. Your names are printed because you're JohnMerrick's nieces. If it hadn't been for tin-plate, my dears, societynever would 'a' known ye at all, at all!"

CHAPTER VI

THE FLY IN THE BROTH

Diana was an experienced entertainer and under her skillful supervisionthe reception proved eminently successful. Nor had she cause to beashamed of the three _protégées_ she presented to society, since capable_modistes_ had supplemented their girlish charms and freshness withcostumes pertinent to the occasion. Perhaps Patsy's chubby form looked alittle "dumpish" in her party gown, for some of Diana's female guestsregarded her with quiet amusement and bored tolerance, while the samecritical posse was amazed and envious at Beth's superb beauty andstately bearing. After all, it was Louise who captured the womancontingency and scored the greatest success; for her appearance was notonly dainty and attractive but she was so perfectly self-possessed andresponsive and bore herself so admirably under the somewhat trying;circumstances of a debut that she won the cordial goodwill of all whomshe encountered. The hostess was elaborately gowned in white pompadoursatin, trimmed with white chiffon and embroidered in pink roses andpearls. The Von Taer home was handsomely decorated for the occasion, since Diana never did anything by halves and for her own credit insistedon attention to those details of display that society recognizes andloves. Hundreds of long-stemmed American Beauties and Kentia palms werecombined in beautifying the spacious hall, while orchids in marvelousvariety nodded their blossoms in the great drawing-room, where theyoung-ladies received. These rare and precious flowers were arranged inbronze baskets with sprays of maidenhair. In the music room adjoining, great clusters of Madam Chantenay roses embellished the charming scene. Branches of cherry-blossoms, supplied by hot-houses, were banked in thelofty dining-room, where a Japanese pergola made of bamboo and lightedwith red lanterns was erected at the upper end. The attendants here wereJapanese girls in native costume, and the long table was laid with alace cloth over pink satin, with butterfly bows of pink tulle. The tableitself was decorated with cut-glass baskets of Cecil Brunner rosesmingled with lilies of the valley and refreshments were distributed tothe standing guests as they entered. 

The affair was in the nature of a typical "crush, " for Diana's list ofeligibles included most of the prominent society folk then in town, andshe was too important a personage to have her invitations disregarded. Beth and Patsy were fairly bewildered by the numerous introductions, until names became meaningless in their ears; but Louise, perfectlycomposed and in no wise distracted by her surroundings or the music ofthe orchestra and the perpetual buzz of conversation in the crowdedrooms, impressed each individual upon her memory clearly, and was notlikely to blunder in regard to names or individuality in the future. This is a rare talent, indeed, and scores, largely in one's favor; forno one likes to think himself so unimportant as to be forgotten, underany circumstances. 

It was during the thick of the reception that one of Miss Von Taer'sintimates, a graceful blond girl, suddenly seized her arm and whispered:"Oh, Diana! Guess who's here--guess, my dear!" Diana knew. Her eyes, always narrowed until the lashes shielded their sharp watchfulness, seldom missed observing anything of importance. She pressed her friend'shand and turned again to the line of guests, while Louise, who hadoverheard the excited whisper, wondered casually what it might mean. 

Soon after she knew. A tall, handsome young fellow was bowing beforeDiana, who--wonder of wonders!--for an instant unclosed her great eyesand shot an electric glance into his smiling face. The glance was briefas unexpected, yet it must have told the young man something, for heflushed and bowed again as if to hide his embarrassment. It also toldLouise something, and her heart, which had given a quick bound at sightof the man's face, began to cry out against Diana Von Taer's artifices. 

"Mr. Arthur Weldon, " said the hostess, in her soft voice; and now, asthe young man turned an eager gaze on Louise and half extended his hand, the girl's face grew pale and she imitated Diana to the extent ofdropping her eyes and bowing with frigid indifference. Standing closehe whispered "Louise!" in a pleading tone that made Diana frownwickedly. But the girl was unresponsive and another instant forced himto turn to Beth. 

"Why, Arthur! are you here, then?" said the girl, in a surprised butcordial tone. 

"That is not astonishing, Miss Beth, " he replied. "The puzzling fact isthat _you_ are here--and under such auspices, " he added, in a lowertone. 

Patsy now claimed him, with a frank greeting, and Arthur Weldon could dolittle more than press her hand when the line forced him to move on andgive place to others. 

But this especial young fellow occupied the minds of all four girls longafter the crowd had swallowed him up. Diana was uneasy and obviouslydisturbed by the discovery that he was known to the three cousins, aswell as by the memory of his tone as he addressed Louise Merrick. Louise, who had read Diana's quick glance with the accuracy of anintuitionist, felt a sudden suspicion and dislike for Diana nowdominating her. Behind all this was a mystery, which shall be explainedhere because the reader deserves to be more enlightened than thecharacters themselves. 

Arthur Weldon's nature was a queer combination of weakness and strength. He was physically brave but a moral coward. The motherless son of a manwholly immersed in business, he had been much neglected in his youth andhis unstable character was largely the result of this neglect. Onleaving college he refused a business career planned for him by hisfather, who cast him off with scornful indifference, and save for a slimtemporary allowance promised to disinherit him. It was during thisperiod that Arthur met Louise and fell desperately in love with her. Thegirl appeared to return the young fellow's devotion, but shrewd, worldlyMrs. Merrick, discovering that the boy was practically disinherited andhad no prospects whatever, forbade him the house. Louise, until now butmildly interested in the young-man, resented her mother's interferenceand refused to give him up. She found ways to meet Arthur Weldon outsideher home, so that the situation had become complicated and dangerouswhen Uncle John seized his three nieces and whisked them off to Europe. Young Weldon, under an assumed name, followed and attached himself tothe party; but John Merrick's suspicions were presently aroused and ondiscovering the identity of the youth he forbade him or Louise to "makelove" or even speak of such a thing during the remainder of the trip. 

The young fellow, by manly acts on some occasions and grave weaknesseson others, won Uncle John's kindly interest. The old gentleman knewhuman nature, and saw much to admire as well as condemn in Louise'sfriend. Beth and Patsy found him a pleasant comrade, and after alllove-making was tabooed they were quite a harmonious party. Finally thesudden death of Weldon's father left him the possessor of a fortune. Hereturned to America to look after his newly-acquired business and becameso immersed in it that Louise felt herself neglected when she came homeexpecting him to dance attendance upon her as before. She treated himcoldly and he ceased calling, his volatile and sensitive natureresenting such treatment. It is curious what little things influencethe trend of human lives. Many estrangements are caused by trifles sointangible that we can scarcely locate them at all. 

At first the girl was very unhappy at the alienation, but soon schooledherself to forget her former admirer. Arthur Weldon, for his part, consoled himself by plunging into social distractions and devotinghimself to Diana Von Taer, whose strange personality for a timefascinated him. 

The business could not hold young Weldon's vacillant temperament forlong; neither could Diana. As a matter of fact his heart, more staunchthan he himself suspected, had never wavered much from Louise. Yet prideforbade his attempting to renew their former relations. It was now somemonths since he had seen the girl, and his eager exclamation was wrestedfrom him by surprise and a sudden awakening to the fact that his lovefor her had merely slumbered. 

Diana, worldly, cold and calculating as was her nature, had beenprofoundly touched by Arthur's devotion to her. Usually young men weresoon repulsed by her unfortunate personality, which was not easilyunderstood. Therefore her intense nature responded freely to thisadmirer's attentions, and if Diana could really love she loved ArthurWeldon. He had never proposed to her or even intimated it was hisintention to do so, but she conceived a powerful desire to win him andhad never abandoned this motive when he grew cold and appeared to deserther. Just now he was recently back from Italy, where he had passedseveral months, and Diana's reception was his first reappearance insociety. The girl had planned to bring him to her side this evening andintended to exert her strongest fascinations to lure him back to hisformer allegiance; so her annoyance may be guessed when she found herthree _protégées_ seemingly more familiar with the young man than wasshe herself. 

At last the line ended and the introductions were complete. The_debutantes_ were at once the center of interested groups composed ofthose who felt it a duty or pleasure to show them attention. Dianawandered to the music room and waylaid Arthur Weldon, who was just aboutto make his escape from the house, having decided it was impossible tofind an opportunity to converse with Louise that evening. 

"I'm so glad you came, Arthur, " she said, a quick glance assuring herthey were not overheard. "You landed from the steamer but yesterday, Ihear. "

"And came straightway to pay my respects to my old friend, " he answeredlightly. "Isn't it unusual for you to present _debutantes_, Diana?"

"You know these girls, don't you, Arthur?"

"Yes; I met them in Europe. "

"And flirted with Miss Merrick? Be honest, Arthur, I know your secret. "

"Do you? Then you know we were merely good friends, " said he, annoyed ather accusation. 

"Of course. You called her 'Louise, ' didn't you?"

"To be sure. And Patsy called me 'Arthur. You may have heard her. "

"Patsy?"

"That's Miss Patricia Doyle--our dear little Patsy. "

"Oh. I'm sure you didn't fall in love with _her_, at any rate. "

"I'm not so sure. Everybody loves Patsy. But I had no time forlove-making. I was doing Europe. "

"Wasn't that a year or so ago?" she asked, realizing he was trying toevade further reference to Louise. 

"Yes. "

"And since then?"

"I've been away the last six or seven months, as you know, on my secondtrip abroad. "

"But before that--when you first returned?"

"If I remember rightly I was then much in the society of Miss Von Taer. Is the catechism ended at last?"

"Yes, " she replied, laughing. "Don't think me inquisitive, Arthur; I wassurprised to find you knew these girls, with whom I am myself butlightly acquainted. "

"Yet you introduce them to your very select set?"

"To please my father, who wishes to please Mr. Merrick. "

"I understand, " said he, nodding. "But they're nice girls, Diana. You're not running chances, I assure you. "

"That relieves me, " she replied rather scornfully. "If Arthur Weldonwill vouch for them--"

"But I don't. I'll vouch for no one--not even myself, " he declaredhastily. She was calmly reading his face, and did not seem to approvethe text. 

"Are you as fickle as ever, then, _mon cher_?" she asked, softly. 

"I'm not fickle, Diana. My fault is that I'm never serious. "

"Never?"

"I cannot remember ever being serious; at least, where a girl wasconcerned. "

Diana bit her lips to restrain a frown, but her eyes, which he wasavoiding, flashed wickedly. 

"That is surely a fault, my Arthur, " was her tender reply. "Were younever serious during our quiet evenings together; our dances, theatreparties and romps?"

"That was merely fun. And you, Diana?"

"Oh, I enjoyed the fun, too. It meant so much to me. I began to live, then, and found life very sweet. But when you suddenly left me and wentabroad--ah, _that_ was indeed serious. "

Her tone was full of passionate yearning. He laughed, trying to appearat ease. Some sort of an understanding must be had with Diana sooner orlater, and she might as well realize at this present interview that theold relations could not be restored. His nature was not brutal and hedisliked to hurt her; moreover, the boy had an uneasy feeling that hehad been a far more ardent admirer of this peculiar girl than any fellowshould be who had had no serious intentions; yet it would be folly toallow Diana to think she could win him back to his former allegiance. Nocompromising word had ever left his lips; he had never spoken of love toher. Yet the girl's attitude seemed to infer a certain possession of himwhich was far from agreeable. 

Having gone so far, he should have said more; but here again his lack ofmoral courage proved his stumbling-block, and he weakly evaded a frankexpression of his true feelings. "Life, " he began somewhat haltingly, to break the embarrassing pause, "is only serious when we make it so;and as soon as we make it serious it makes us unhappy. So I've adoptedone invariable rule: to laugh and be gay. "

"Then I too will be gay, and together we'll enjoy life, " respondedDiana, with an effort to speak lightly. "I shall let your moods be mymoods, Arthur, as a good friend should. Are we not affinities?"

Again he knew not what to say. Her persistence in clinging to herintangible hold upon him was extremely irritating, and he realized thegirl was far too clever for him to cope with and was liable to cause himfuture trouble. Instead of seizing the opportunity to frankly undeceiveher he foolishly evaded the subject. 

"You've been tempting fate to-night, " he remarked with assumedcarelessness. "Don't you remember that to stand four girls in a row is abad omen?"

"Only for the one who first winks. Isn't that the way the saying goes? Iseldom wink, myself, " she continued, smilingly. "But I have no faith inill omens. Their power is entirely due to mental fear. "

"I think not, " said Arthur, glad the conversation had taken this turn. "Once I knew a fellow with thirteen letters in his name. He had nomental fear. But he proposed to a girl--and was accepted. "

She gave him one of those sudden, swift glances that were sodisconcerting. 

"If you had a middle initial, there would be thirteen letters in yourown name, Arthur Weldon. "

"But I haven't, Diana; I haven't, " he protested, eagerly. "And if ever Ipropose to a girl I'm sure she'll refuse me. But I've no intention ofdoing such a crazy thing, so I'm perfectly safe. "

"You cannot be sure until you try, Arthur, " she replied pointedly, andwith a start he became conscious that he was again treading upondangerous ground. 

"Come; let us rejoin your guests, " said he, offering her his arm. "Theywould all hate me if they knew I was keeping the fair Diana from them solong. " "Arthur, I must have a good long; talk with you--one of ourold, delightful confabs, " she said, earnestly. "Will you call Sundayafternoon? Then we shall be quite undisturbed. "

He hesitated. 

"Sunday afternoon?" he answered. 

"Yes. "

"All right; I'll come, Diana. "

She gave him a grateful look and taking his arm allowed him to lead herback to the drawing-room. The crush was over, many having alreadydeparted. Some of the young people were dancing in the open spaces tothe music of a string orchestra hidden behind a bank of ferns in thehall. 

Louise and Beth were the centers of attentive circles; Patsy conversedwith merry freedom with a group of ancient dowagers, who delighted inher freshness and healthy vigor and were flattered by her consideration. Mrs. Merrick--for she had been invited--sat in a corner gorgeously robedand stiff as a poker, her eyes devouring the scene. Noting the triumphof Louise she failed to realize she was herself neglected. A singleglance sufficed to acquaint Diana with all this, and after a graciousword to her guests here and there she asked Arthur to dance with her. Hecould not well refuse, but felt irritated and annoyed when he observedLouise's eyes fastened upon him in amused disdain. After a few turns hediscovered some departing ones waiting to bid their hostess _adieu_, andescaped from his unpleasant predicament by halting his partner beforethem. Then he slipped away and quietly left the house before Diana hadtime to miss him. 

CHAPTER VII

THE HERO ENTERS AND TROUBLE BEGINS

The Von Taer reception fully launched the three nieces in society. Endorsed by Diana and backed by John Merrick's millions and their ownwinsome charms, they were sure to become favorites in that admirable setto which they had fortunately gained admittance. 

Cards poured in upon them during; the succeeding days and they foundthemselves busy returning calls and attending dinners, fetes, bridgeparties and similar diversions. The great Mrs. Sandringham took adecided fancy to Louise, and when the committee was appointed to arrangefor the social Kermess to be held in December, this dictatorial leaderhad the girl's name included in the list. Naturally the favor led to allthree cousins taking active part in the most famous social event of theseason, and as an especial mark of favoritism they were appointed toconduct the "flower booth, " one of the important features of theKermess. 

Mrs. Merrick was in the seventh heaven of ecstatic delight; Uncle Johndeclared his three girls were sure to become shining lights, if notactual constellations, wherever they might be placed; Major Doylegrowled and protested; but was secretly pleased to have "our Patsy thecaptain of the dress parade, " where he fondly imagined she outclassedall others. All former denunciations of society at large were nowignored, even by unimpressive Beth, and the girls soon became deeplyinterested in their novel experiences. 

Arthur Weldon sulked at home, unhappy and undecided, for a day or twoafter the reception. Sunday noon he dispatched a messenger to Diana witha note saying he would be unable to keep his appointment with her thatafternoon. Then he went straight to the Merrick home and sent his cardto Louise. The girl flushed, smiled, frowned, and decided to go down. 

No one had ever interested her so much as Arthur Weldon. There had beena spice of romance about their former relations that made her stillregard him as exceptional among mankind. She had been asking herself, since the night of the reception, if she still loved him, but could notcome to a positive conclusion. The boy was no longer "ineligible, " as hehad been at first; even Uncle John could now have no serious objectionto him. He was handsome, agreeable, occupied a good social position andwas fairly well off in the way of worldly goods--the last point removingMrs. Merrick's former rejection of Arthur as a desirable son-in-law. 

But girls are wayward and peculiar in such an _affaire du coeur_, andnone of these things might have weighed with Louise had she notdiscovered that Diana Von Taer was in love with Arthur and intended towin him. That aroused the girl's fighting instincts, rendered the youngman doubly important, and easily caused Louise to forget her resentmentat his temporary desertion of her. Perhaps, she reflected, it hadpartially been her own fault. Now that Arthur showed a disposition torenew their friendship, and she might promise herself the satisfactionof defeating Diana's ambitions, it would be diplomatic, at least, toreceive the youth with cordial frankness. 

Therefore she greeted him smilingly and with outstretched hand, saying:

"This is quite a surprise, Mr. Weldon. I'd a notion you had forgottenme. " "No, indeed, Louise! How could you imagine such a thing?" heanswered, reproachfully. 

"There was some evidence of the fact, " she asserted archly. "At one timeyou gave me no peace; then you became retiring. At last you disappearedwholly. What could I think, sir, under such circumstances?"

He stood looking down at her thoughtfully. How pretty she had grown; andhow mature and womanly. 

"Louise, " said he, gently, "don't let us indulge in mutual reproaches. Some one must have been at fault and I'll willingly take all the blameif you will forgive me. Once we were--were good friends. We--we intendedto be still more to one another, Louise, but something occurred, I don'tknow what, to--to separate us. "

"Why, you went away, " said the girl, laughing; "and that of courseseparated us. "

"You treated me like a beggar; don't forget that part of it, dear. Ofcourse I went away. "

"And consoled yourself with a certain Miss Diana Von Taer. It has latelybeen rumored you are engaged to her. " "Me? What nonsense?" But hehushed guiltily, and Louise noted everything and determined he shouldnot escape punishment. 

"Diana, at least, is in earnest, " she remarked, with assumedindifference. "You may not care to deny that you have been veryattentive to her. "

"Not especially so, " he declared, stoutly. 

"People gossip, you know. And Diana is charming. "

"She's an iceberg!"

"Oh, you have discovered that? Was she wholly unresponsive, then?"

"No, " he said, with a touch of anger. "I have never cared for Diana, except in a friendly way. She amused me for a while when--when I waswretched. But I never made love to her; not for a moment. Afterward, why--then----"

"Well; what then?" as he hesitated, growing red again. 

"I found she had taken my careless attentions in earnest, and the playwas getting dangerous. So I went abroad. "

Louise considered this explanation seriously. She believed he wasspeaking the truth, so far as he knew. But at the same time she realizedfrom her own experience that Arthur might as easily deceive himself asDiana in his estimate as to the warmth of the devotion he displayed. Hisnature was impetuous and ardent. That Diana should have taken hisattentions seriously and become infatuated with the handsome youngfellow was not a matter to cause surprise. 

Gradually Louise felt her resentment disappearing. In Arthur's presencethe charm of his personality influenced her to be lenient with hisshortcomings. And his evident desire for a reconciliation found an echoin her own heart. 

Mutual explanations are excellent to clear a murky atmosphere, and anhour's earnest conversation did much to restore these two congenialspirits to their former affectionate relations. Of course Louise did notsuccumb too fully to his pleadings, for her feminine instinct warned herto keep the boy on "the anxious seat" long enough to enable him toappreciate her value and the honor of winning her good graces. Moreover, she made some severe conditions and put him on his good behavior. If heproved worthy, and was steadfast and true, why then the future mightreward him freely. 

Diana had been making careful plans for her interview with Arthur thatSunday afternoon. With no futile attempt to deceive herself as toexistent conditions she coldly weighed the chances in her mental scaleand concluded she had sufficient power to win this unstable youth to herside and induce him to forget that such a person as Louise Merrick everexisted. 

Diana was little experienced in such affairs, it is true. Arthur Weldonhad been her first and only declared admirer, and no one living hadstudied his peculiar nature more critically than this observant girl. Also she knew well her own physical failings. She realized that herpersonality was to many repulsive, rather than attractive, and this inspite of her exquisite form, her perfect breeding and many undeniableaccomplishments. Men, as a rule, seldom remained at her side savethrough politeness, and even seemed to fear her; but never until now hadshe cared for any man sufficiently to wish to retain or interest him. There were unsuspected fascinations lying dormant in her nature, andMiss Von Taer calmly reflected that the exercise of these qualities, backed by her native wit and capacity for intrigue, could easilyaccomplish the object she desired. 

Thus she had planned her campaign and carefully dressed herself inanticipation of Arthur's call when his note came canceling theengagement. After rereading his lame excuse she sat down in a quietcorner and began to think. The first gun had been fired, the battle wason, and like a wise general she carefully marshaled her forces forcombat. 

An hour or two later she turned to her telephone book and called up theMerrick establishment. A voice, that of a maid, evidently, answered her. 

"I wish to speak with Miss Merrick, " said Diana. 

Louise, annoyed at being disturbed, left Arthur's side to respond to thecall. 

"Who is it, please?" she asked. 

"Is Mr. Weldon still there, or has he gone?" enquired Diana, disguisingher voice and speaking imperatively. . "Why, he's still here, " answeredbewildered Louise; "but who is talking, please?"

No answer. 

"Do you wish to speak with Mr. Weldon?" continued the girl, mystified atsuch an odd procedure. 

Diana hung up her receiver, severing the connection. The click of theinstrument assured Louise there was no use in waiting longer, so shereturned to Arthur. She could not even guess who had called her. Arthurcould, though, when he had heard her story, and Diana's impudentmeddling made him distinctly uneasy. He took care not to enlightenLouise, and the incident was soon forgotten by her. 

"It proved just as I expected, " mused Diana, huddled in her reclining'chair. "The fool has thrown me over to go to her. But this is notimportant. With the situation so clearly defined I shall know exactlywhat I must do to protect my own interests. "

Mr. Von Taer was away from home that Sunday afternoon, and would notreturn until a late hour. Diana went to the telephone again and afterseveral unsuccessful attempts located her cousin, Mr. Charles ConnoldyMershone, at a club. 

"It's Diana, " she said, when at last communication was established. "Iwant you to come over and see me; at once. "

"You'll have to excuse me, Di, " was the answer. "I was unceremoniouslykicked out the last time, you know. "

"Father's away. It's all right, Charlie. Come along. "

"Can't see it, my fair cousin. You've all treated me like a bull-pup, and I'm not anxious to mix up with that sort of a relationship. Anythingmore? I'm going to play pool to win my dinner. "

"Funds running low, Charlie?"

"Worse than that; they're invisible. "

"Then pay attention. Call a taxi at once, and get here as soon as youcan. I'll foot the bill--and any others that happen to be botheringyou. "

A low, surprised whistle came over the wire. 

"What's up, Di?" he asked, with new interest. 

"Come and find out. "

"Can I be useful?"

"Assuredly; to yourself. "

"All right; I'm on the way. "

He hung up, and Diana gave a sigh of content as she slowly returned toher den and the easy chair, where Mr. Mershone found her "coiled" somehalf hour later. 

"This is a queer go, " said the young man, taking a seat and glancingaround with knitted brows. "It isn't so long since dear Uncle Hedriktumbled me out of here neck and crop; and now Cousin Diana invites me toreturn. "

At first glance young Mershone seemed an attractive young fellow, tall, finely formed and well groomed. But his eyes were too close together andhis handsome features bore unmistakable marks of dissipation. 

"You disgraced us a year or so ago, Charlie, " said Diana, in her soft, quiet accents, "and under such circumstances we could not tolerate you. You can scarcely blame us for cutting your acquaintance. But now--"

"Well, now?" he enquired coolly, trying to read her impassive face. 

"I need the services of just such an unscrupulous and clever individualas you have proven yourself to be. I'm willing to pay liberally forthose services, and you doubtless need the money. Are we allies, then?"

Mershone laughed, with little genuine mirth. 

"Of course, my dear cousin, " he responded; "provided you propose anylegal villainy. I'm not partial to the police; but I really need themoney, as you suggest. "

"And you will be faithful?" she asked, regarding him doubtfully. 

"To the cause, you may be sure. But understand me: I balk at murder andburglary. Somehow, the police seem to know me. I'll not do anything thatmight lead to a jail sentence, because there are easier ways to getmoney. However, I don't imagine your proposed plan is very desperate, Diana; it's more liable to be dirty work. Never mind; you may commandme, my dear cousin--if the pay is ample. "

"The pay will be ample if you succeed, " she began. 

"I don't like that. I may not succeed. "

"Listen to me, Charlie. Do you know Arthur Weldon?"

"Slightly; not very well. "

"I intend to marry him. He has paid me marked attentions in the past;but now--he--"

"Wants to slip the leash. Quite natural, my dear. "

"He has become infatuated with another girl; a light-headed, inexperienced little thing who is likely to marry the first man who asksher. She is very rich--in her own right, too--and her husband will be afortunate man. "

Mershone stared at her. Then he whistled, took a few turns up and downthe room, and reseated himself. 

"Evidently!" he ejaculated, lighting a cigarette without permission andthen leaning back thoughtfully in his chair. 

"Charlie, " continued Diana, "you may as well marry Louise Merrick andsettle down to a life of respectability. You've a dashing, masterful waywhich no girl of her sort can long resist. I propose that you makedesperate love to Louise Merrick and so cut Arthur Weldon out of thedeal entirely. My part of the comedy will be to attract him to my sideagain. Now you have the entire proposition in a nutshell. "

He smoked for a time in reflective silence. 

"What's the girl like?" he enquired, presently. "Is she attractive?"

"Sufficiently so to fascinate Arthur Weldon. Moreover, she has just beenintroduced in our set, and knows nothing of your shady past history. Even if rumors came to her ears, young creatures of her sort often finda subtle charm in a man accused of being 'naughty. '"

"Humph!"

"If you win her, you get a wife easily managed and a splendid fortune tosquander as you please. "

"Sounds interesting, Di, doesn't it? But--"

"In regard to preliminary expenses, " she interrupted, calmly, "I havesaid that your reward will be ample when you have won the game. Butmeantime I am willing to invest the necessary funds in the enterprise. Iwill allow you a thousand a month. " "Bah! that's nothing at all!" saidhe, contemptuously, as he flicked the ashes from his cigarette. 

"What do you demand, then?"

"Five hundred a week, in advance. It's an expensive job, Di. "

"Very well; I will give you five hundred a week; but only as long as youwork earnestly to carry out the plot. I shall watch you, Charlie. Andyou must not lose sight of the ultimate reward. "

"I won't, my sweet cousin. It's a bargain, " he said, readily enough. "When do I begin, and what's the program?"

"Draw your chair nearer, " said Diana, restraining her triumphant joy. "I'll explain everything to you in detail. It will be my part to plan, and yours to execute. "

"Good!" he exclaimed, with a cheerful grin. "I feel like an executioneralready!"

CHAPTER VIII

OPENING THE CAMPAIGN

Louise's little romance, which now began to thrive vigorously, wasregarded with calmness by her cousins and her mother, who knew of theformer episode between her and Arthur and attached little importance tothe renewed flirtation in which they indulged. That they were deceivedin their estimate was due to the girl's reputation for frivolity whereyoung men were concerned. She had been dubbed a "flirt" ever since shefirst began to wear long dresses, and her nature was not considered deepenough for her heart to be ever seriously affected. Therefore the younggirl was gravely misjudged. 

Louise was not one to bare her heart, even to her most intimate friends, and no one now suspected that at last her deepest, truest womanlyaffections were seriously involved. The love for Arthur that had laindormant in her heart was aroused at a time when she was more mature andcapable of recognizing truly her feelings, so that it was not longbefore she surrendered her reserve and admitted to him that life wouldmean little for her unless they might pass the years together. For hispart, young Weldon sincerely loved Louise, and had never wavered fromhis firm devotion during all the past months of misunderstanding. 

The general impression that they were "merely flirting" afforded thelovers ample opportunity to have their walks and drives togetherundisturbed, and during these soulful communions they arrived at such aperfect understanding that both were confident nothing could everdisturb their trust and confidence. 

It was at a theatre party that the three _debutantes_ first met CharlieMershone, but they saw little of him that first evening and scarcelynoticed his presence. Louise, indeed, noted that his eyes were fixedupon her more than once with thinly veiled admiration, and without athought of disloyalty to Arthur, but acting upon the impulse of hercoquettish nature, she responded with a demure smile of encouragement. Charlie Mershone was an adept at playing parts. He at first regardedLouise much as a hunter does the game he is stalking. Patsy Doyle wasmore jolly and Beth De Graf more beautiful than Miss Merrick; but theyoung man would in any event have preferred the latter's daintypersonality. When he found her responsive to his admiring glances he wasastounded to note his heart beating rapidly--a thing quite foreign tohis usual temperament. Yes, this girl would do very nicely, both as awife and as a banker. Assuredly the game was well worth playing, asDiana had asserted. He must make it his business to discover whatdifficulties must be overcome in winning her. Of course Arthur Weldonwas the main stumbling-block; but Weldon was a ninny; he must be thrustaside; Diana had promised to attend to that. 

Never in his life had Charles Connoldy Mershone been in earnest before. After his first interview with Louise Merrick he became in deadlyearnest. His second meeting with her was at Marie Delmar's bridge whistparty, where they had opportunity for an extended conversation. Arthurwas present this evening, but by some chance Mershone drew Louise forhis partner at cards, and being a skillful player he carried her inprogression from table to table, leaving poor Arthur far behind andindulging in merry repartee and mild flirtation until they felt theywere quite well acquainted. 

Louise found the young man a charming conversationalist. He had adashing, confidential way of addressing the girl which impressed her asflattering and agreeable, while his spirits were so exuberant andsparkling with humor that she was thoroughly amused every moment whilein his society. Indeed, Mr. Mershone was really talented, and had hepossessed any manly attributes, or even the ordinary honorable instinctsof mankind, there is little doubt he would have been a popular favorite. But he had made his mark, and it was a rather grimy one. From earliestyouth he had been guilty of discreditable acts that had won for him thecontempt of all right-minded people. That he was still accepted with laxtolerance by some of the more thoughtless matrons of the fashionable setwas due to his family name. They could not forget that in spite of hisnumerous lapses from respectability he was still a Mershone. Not one ofthe careless mothers who admitted him to her house would have allowedher daughter to wed him, and the degree of tolerance extended to him wasfully appreciated by Mershone himself. He knew he was practically barredfrom the most desirable circles and seldom imposed himself upon hisformer acquaintances; but now, with a distinct object in view, hecallously disregarded the doubtful looks he encountered and showedhimself in every drawing-room where he could secure an invitation orimpudently intrude himself. He made frank avowals that he had "reformed"and abandoned his evil ways forever. Some there were who accepted thisstatement seriously, and Diana furthered his cause by treating himgraciously whenever they met, whereas she had formerly refused torecognize her cousin. 

Louise knew nothing at all of Charlie Mershone's history and permittedhim to call when he eagerly requested the favor; but on the way homefrom the Delmars Arthur, who had glowered at the usurper all theevening, took pains to hint to Louise that Mershone was an undesirableacquaintance and had a bad record. Of course she laughed at him andteased him, thinking he was jealous and rejoicing that in Mershone shehad a tool to "keep Arthur toeing the mark. " As a matter of truth shehad really missed her lover's companionship that evening, but forbore toapprise him of the fact. 

And now the great Kermess began to occupy the minds of the threecousins, who were to share the important "Flower Booth" between them. The Kermess was to be the holiday sensation of the season and bade fairto eclipse the horse show in popularity. It was primarily a charitableentertainment, as the net receipts were to be divided among severaldeserving hospitals; nevertheless it was classed as a high societyfunction and only the elect were to take active part in the affair. 

The ball room at the Waldorf had been secured and many splendid boothswere to be erected for the sale of novelties, notions and refreshments. There were to be lotteries and auctions, national dances given by groupsof society belles, and other novel entertainments calculated to emptythe pockets of the unwary. 

Beth was somewhat indignant to find that she and her cousins, havingbeen assigned to the flower booth, were expected to erect a pavilion anddecorate it at their own expense, as well as to provide the stock offlowers to be sold. "There is no fund for preliminary expenses, youknow, " remarked Mrs. Sandringham, "and of course all the receipts are togo to charity; so there is nothing to do but stand these little billsourselves. We all do it willingly. The papers make a good deal of theKermess, and the advertisement we get is worth all it costs us. "

Beth did not see the force of this argument. She thought it was dreadfulfor society--really good society--to wish to advertise itself; butgradually she was learning that this was merely a part of the game. Tobe talked about, to have her goings and comings heralded in the societycolumns and her gowns described on every possible occasion, seemed thedesire of every society woman, and she who could show the biggestscrap-book of clippings was considered of highest importance. . UncleJohn laughed joyously when told that the expenses of the flower boothwould fall on the shoulders of his girls and there was no laterrecompense. 

"Why not?" he cried. "Mustn't we pay the fiddler if we dance?"

"It's a hold-up game, " declared Beth, angrily. "I'll have nothing to dowith it. "

"Yes, you will, my dear, " replied her uncle; "and to avoid separatingyou chicks from your pin-money I'm going to stand every cent of theexpense myself. Why, it's for charity, isn't it? Charity covers amultitude of sins, and I'm just a miserable sinner that needs abath-robe to snuggle in. How can the poor be better served than byrobbing the rich? Go ahead, girls, and rig up the swellest booth thatmoney will build. I'll furnish as many flowers as you can sell, andCharity ought to get a neat little nest-egg out of the deal. "

"That's nice of you, " said Patsy, kissing him; "but it's an imposition, all the same. "

"It's a blessing, my dear. It will help a bit to ease off that dreadfulincome that threatens to crush me, " he rejoined, smiling at them. Andthe nieces made no further protest, well knowing the kindly oldgentleman would derive untold pleasure in carrying out his generousplans. 

The flower booth, designed by a famous architect, proved a splendid andmost imposing structure. It was capped by a monster bouquet ofartificial orchids in _papier-maché, _ which reached twenty feet into theair. The three cousins had their gowns especially designed for theoccasion. Beth represented a lily, Louise a Gold-of-Ophir rose, andPatricia a pansy. 

The big ball room had been turned over to the society people severaldays in advance, that the elaborate preparations might be completed intime, and during this period groups of busy, energetic young folksgathered by day and in the evenings, decorating, flirting, rehearsingthe fancy dances, and amusing themselves generally. 

Arthur Weldon was there to assist Uncle John's nieces; but his pleasurewas somewhat marred by the persistent presence of Charlie Mershone, who, having called once or twice upon Louise, felt at liberty to attachhimself to her party. The ferocious looks of his rival were ignored bythis designing young man and he had no hesitation in interrupting a_tête-à-tête_ to monopolize the girl for himself. 

Louise was amused, thinking it fun to worry Arthur by flirting mildlywith Mr. Mershone, for whom she cared not a jot. Both Patsy and Bethtook occasion to remonstrate with her for this folly, for having knownWeldon for a long time and journeyed with him through a part of Europe, they naturally espoused his cause, liking him as much as theyintuitively disliked Mershone. 

One evening Arthur, his patience well-nigh exhausted, talked seriouslywith Louise. 

"This fellow Mershone, " said he, "is a bad egg, a despicable son of adecadent family. His mother was Hedrik Von Taer's sister, but the poorthing has been dead many years. Not long ago Charlie was tabooed by eventhe rather fast set he belonged to, and the Von Taers, especially, refused to recognize their relative. Now he seems to go everywhereagain. I don't know what has caused the change, I'm sure. " "Why, hehas reformed, " declared Louise; "Diana told me so. She said he had beena bit wild, as all young men are; but now his behavior isirreproachable. "

"I don't believe a word of it, " insisted Arthur. "Mershone is a naturalcad; he's been guilty of all sorts of dirty tricks, and is capable ofmany more. If you'll watch out, Louise, you'll see that all the girlsare shy of being found in his society, and all the chaperons cluck totheir fledglings the moment the hawk appears. You're a novice in societyjust yet, my dear, and it won't do you any good to encourage CharlieMershone, whom everyone else avoids. "

"He's very nice, " returned Louise, lightly. 

"Yes; he must be nicer than I am, " admitted the young man, glumly, andthereupon he became silent and morose and Louise found her eveningspoiled. 

The warning did not fall on barren ground, however. In the seclusion ofher own room the girl thought it all over and decided she had teased hertrue lover enough. Arthur had not scolded or reproached her, despite hisannoyance, and she had a feeling that his judgment of Charlie Mershonewas quite right. Although the latter was evidently madly in love withher the girl had the discretion to see how selfish and unrestrained washis nature, and once or twice he had already frightened her by hisimpetuosity. She decided to retreat cautiously but positively fromfurther association with him, and at once began to show the young mancoolness. 

Mershone must have been chagrined, but he did not allow Louise to seethere was any change in their relations as far as he was concerned. Hemerely redoubled his attentions, sending her flowers and bonbons daily, accompanied by ardently worded but respectful notes. Really, Louise wasin a quandary, and she frankly admitted to Arthur that she had broughtthis embarrassment upon herself. Yet Arthur could do or say little tocomfort her. He longed secretly to "punch Mershone's head, " but couldfind no occasion for such decided action. 

Diana, during this time, treated both Arthur and Louise with markedcordiality. Believing her time would come to take part in the comedy sherefrained from interfering prematurely with the progress of events. Shemanaged to meet her accomplice at frequent intervals and was pleasedthat there was no necessity to urge Charlie to do his utmost inseparating the lovers. 

"I'm bound to win, Di, " he said grimly, "for I love the girl even betterthan I do her fortune. And of one thing you may rest assured; Weldonshall never marry her. "

"What will you do?" asked Diana, curiously. 

"Anything! Everything that is necessary to accomplish my purpose. "

"Be careful, " said she warningly. "Keep a cool head, Charlie, and don'tdo anything foolish. Still--"

"Well?"

"If it is necessary to take a few chances, do it. Arthur Weldon must notmarry Louise Merrick!"

CHAPTER IX

THE VON TAER PEARLS

Uncle John really had more fun out of the famous Kermess than anyoneelse. The preparations gave him something to do, and he enjoyeddoing--openly, as well as in secret ways. Having declared that he wouldstock the flower booth at his own expense, he confided to no one hisplans. The girls may have thought he would merely leave orders with aflorist; but that was not the Merrick way of doing things. Instead, hevisited the most famous greenhouses within a radius of many miles, contracting for all the floral blooms that art and skill could produce. The Kermess was to be a three days' affair, and each day the floraltreasures of the cast were delivered in reckless profusion at the flowerbooth, which thus became the center of attraction and the marvel of thepublic. The girls were delighted to be able to dispense such blooms, andtheir success as saleswomen was assured at once. Of course the fairvendors were ignorant of the value of their wares, for Uncle Johnrefused to tell them how extravagant he had been; so they were obligedto guess at the sums to be demanded and in consequence sold pricelessorchids and rare hothouse flora at such ridiculous rates that Mr. Merrick chuckled with amusement until he nearly choked. 

The public being "cordially invited" Uncle John was present on thatfirst important evening, and--wonder of wonders--was arrayed in animmaculate full-dress suit that fitted his chubby form like the skin ofa banana. Mayor Doyle, likewise disguised, locked arms with hisbrother-in-law and stalked gravely among the throng; but neither evergot to a point in the big room where the flower booth was not in plainsight. The Major's pride in "our Patsy" was something superb; Uncle Johnwas proud of all three of his nieces. As the sale of wares was for thebenefit of charity these old fellows purchased liberally--mostly flowersand had enough parcels sent home to fill a delivery wagon. 

One disagreeable incident, only, marred this otherwise successfulevening--successful especially for the three cousins, whose beauty andgrace won the hearts of all. 

Diana Von Taer was stationed in the "Hindoo Booth, " and the orientalcostume she wore exactly fitted her sensuous style of beauty. To enhanceits effect she had worn around her neck the famous string of Von Taerpearls, a collection said to be unmatched in beauty and unequaled invalue in all New York. 

The "Hindoo Booth" was near enough to the "Flower Booth" for Diana towatch the cousins, and the triumph of her late _protégées_ was verybitter for her to endure. Especially annoying was it to find ArthurWeldon devoting himself assiduously to Louise, who looked charming inher rose gown and favored Arthur in a marked way, although CharlieMershone, refusing to be ignored, also leaned over the counter of thebooth and chatted continually, striving to draw Miss Merrick's attentionto himself. 

Forced to observe all this, Diana soon lost her accustomed coolness. Thesight of the happy faces of Arthur and Louise aroused all the rancorand subtile wit that she possessed, and she resolved upon an act thatshe would not before have believed herself capable of. Leaning down, shereleased the catch of the famous pearls and unobserved concealed them ina handkerchief. Then, leaving her booth, she sauntered slowly over tothe floral display, which was surrounded for the moment by a crowd ofeager customers. Many of the vases and pottery jars which had containedflowers now stood empty, and just before the station of Louise Merrickthe stock was sadly depleted. This was, of course, offset by the storeof money in the little drawer beside the fair sales-lady, and Louise, having greeted Diana with a smile and nod, turned to renew herconversation with the young men besieging her. 

Diana leaned gracefully over the counter, resting the hand containingthe handkerchief over the mouth of an empty Doulton vase--empty save forthe water which had nourished the flowers. At the same time she caughtLouise's eye and with a gesture brought the girl to her side. "Thoseyoung men are wealthy, " she said, carelessly, her head close to that ofLouise. "Make them pay well for their purchases, my dear. "

"I can't rob them, Diana, " was the laughing rejoinder. 

"But it is your duty to rob, at a Kermess, and in the interests ofcharity, " persisted Diana, maintaining her voice at a whisper. 

Louise was annoyed. 

"Thank you, " she said, and went back to the group awaiting her. 

The floral booth was triangular, Beth officiated at one of the threesides, Patsy at another, and Louise at the third. Diana now passedsoftly around the booth, interchanging a word with the other two girls, after which she returned to her own station. 

Presently, while chatting with a group of acquaintances, she suddenlyclasped her throat and assuming an expression of horror exclaimed:

"My pearls!"

"What, the Von Taer pearls?" cried one. 

"The Von Taer pearls, " said Diana, as if dazed by her misfortune. 

"And you've lost them, dear?"

"They're lost!" she echoed. 

Well, there was excitement then, you may be sure. One man hurried tonotify the door-keeper and the private detective employed oh all suchoccasions, while others hastily searched the booth--of course in vain. Diana seemed distracted and the news spread quickly through theassemblage. 

"Have you left this booth at all?" asked a quiet voice, that of theofficial whose business it was to investigate. 

"I--I merely walked over to the floral booth opposite, and exchanged aword with Miss Merrick, and the others there, " she explained. 

The search was resumed, and Charlie Mershone sauntered over. 

"What's this, Di? Lost the big pearls, I hear, " he said. 

She took him aside and whispered something to him. He nodded andreturned at once to the flower booth, around which a crowd of searchersnow gathered, much to the annoyance of Louise and her cousins. 

"It's all foolishness, you know, " said Uncle John, to the Major, confidentially. "If the girl really dropped her pearls some one haspicked them up, long ago. "

Young Mershone seemed searching the floral booth as earnestly as theothers, and awkwardly knocked the Doulton vase from the shelf with hiselbow. It smashed to fragments and in the pool of water on the floorappeared the missing pearls. 

There was an awkward silence for a moment, while all eyes turnedcuriously upon Louise, who served this side of the triangle. The girlappeared turned to stone as she gazed down at the gems. Mershone laugheddisagreeably and picked up the recovered treasure, which Diana ranforward and seized. 

"H-m-m!" said the detective, with a shrug; "this is a strangeoccurrence--a very strange occurrence, indeed. Miss Von Taer, do youwish--"

"No!" exclaimed Diana, haughtily. "I accuse no one. It is enough that anaccident has restored to me the heirloom. "

Stiffly she marched back to her own booth, and the crowd quietlydispersed, leaving only Arthur, Uncle John and the Major standing tosupport Louise and her astonished cousins. 

"Why, confound it!" cried the little millionaire, with a red face, "doesthe jade mean to insinuate--"

"Not at all, sor, " interrupted the Major, sternly; "her early educationhas been neglected, that's all. "

"Come dear, " pleaded Arthur to Louise; "let us go home. "

"By no means!" announced Beth, positively; "let us stay where we belong. Why, we're not half sold out yet!"

CHAPTER X

MISLED

Arthur Weldon met Mershone at a club next afternoon. "You lowscoundrel!" he exclaimed. "It was _your_ trick to accuse Miss Merrick ofa theft last night. "

"Was she accused?" enquired the other, blandly. "I hadn't heard, really. "

"You did it yourself!"

"Dear me!" said Mershone, deliberately lighting a cigarette. 

"You or your precious cousin--you're both alike, " declared Arthur, bitterly. "But you have given us wisdom, Mershone. We'll see you don'ttrick us again. "

The young man stared at him, between puffs of smoke. 

"It occurs to me, Weldon, that you're becoming insolent. It won't do, myboy. Unless you guard your tongue--"

"Bah! Resent it, if you dare; you coward. "

"Coward?"

"Yes. A man who attacks an innocent girl is a coward. And you've been acoward all your life, Mershone, for one reason or another. No onebelieves in your pretended reform. But I want to warn you to keep awayfrom Miss Merrick, hereafter, or I'll take a hand in your punishmentmyself. "

For a moment the two eyed one another savagely. They were equallymatched in physique; but Arthur was right, there was no fight inMershone; that is, of the knock-down order. He would fight in his ownway, doubtless, and this made him more dangerous than his antagonistsupposed. 

"What right have you, sir, to speak for Miss Merrick?" he demanded. 

"The best right in the world, " replied Arthur. "She is my promisedwife. "

"Indeed! Since when?"

"That is none of your affair, Mershone. As a matter of fact, however, that little excitement you created last night resulted in a perfectunderstanding between us. " "_I_ created!"

"You, of course. Miss Merrick does not care to meet you again. You willdo well to avoid her in the future. "

"I don't believe you, Weldon. You're bluffing. "

"Am I? Then dare to annoy Miss Merrick again and I'll soon convince youof my sincerity. "

With this parting shot he walked away, leaving Mershone really at a lossto know whether he was in earnest or not. To solve the question hecalled a taxicab and in a few minutes gave his card to the Merrickbutler with a request to see Miss Louise. 

The man returned with a message that Miss Merrick was engaged. 

"Please tell her it is important, " insisted Mershone. 

Again the butler departed, and soon returned. 

"Any message for Miss Merrick must be conveyed in writing, sir, " hesaid, "She declines to see you. "

Mershone went away white with anger. We may credit him with lovingLouise as intensely as a man of his caliber can love anyone. His suddendismissal astounded him and made him frantic with disappointment. Louise's treatment of the past few days might have warned him, but hehad no intuition of the immediate catastrophe that had overtaken him. Itwasn't his self-pride that was injured; that had become so batteredthere was little of it left; but he had set his whole heart on winningthis girl and felt that he could not give her up. 

Anger toward Weldon was prominent amongst his emotion. He declaredbetween his set teeth that if Louise was lost to him she should nevermarry Weldon. Not on Diana's account, but for his own vengefulsatisfaction was this resolve made. 

He rode straight to his cousin and told her the news. The statement thatArthur was engaged to marry Louise Merrick drove her to a wild anger noless powerful because she restrained any appearance of it. Surveying hercousin steadily through her veiled lashes she asked:

"Is there no way we can prevent this thing?"

Mershone stalked up and down before her like a caged beast. His eyeswere red and wicked; his lips were pressed tightly together. "Diana, "said he, "I've never wanted anything in this world as I want that girl. I can't let that mollycoddle marry her!"

She flushed, and then frowned. It was not pleasant to hear the man ofher choice spoken of with such contempt, but after all theirdisappointment and desires were alike mutual and she could not breakwith Charlie at this juncture. 

Suddenly he paused and asked:

"Do you still own that country home near East Orange?"

"Yes; but we never occupy it now. Father does not care for the place. "

"Is it deserted?"

"Practically so. Madame Cerise is there in charge. "

"Old Cerise? I was going to ask you what had become of that cleverfemale. "

"She was too clever, Charlie. She knew too much of our affairs, and wasalways prying into things that did not concern her. So father took anantipathy to the poor creature, and because she has served our familyfor so long sent her to care for the house at East Orange. "

"Pensioned her, eh? Well, this is good news, Di; perhaps the best newsin the world. I believe it will help clear up the situation. Old Ceriseand I always understood each other. "

"Will you explain?" asked Diana, coldly. 

"I think not, my fair cousin. I prefer to keep my own counsel. You madea bad mess of that little deal last night, and are responsible for theclimax that faces us. Besides, a woman is never a good conspirator. Iknow what you want; and I know what I want. So I'll work this planalone, if you please. And I'll win, Di; I'll win as sure as fate--ifyou'll help me. "

"You ask me to help you and remain in the dark?"

"Yes; it's better so. Write me a note to Cerise and tell her to placethe house and herself unreservedly at my disposal. "

She stared at him fixedly, and he returned the look with an evil smile. So they sat in silence a moment. Then slowly she arose and moved to herescritoire, drawing a sheet of paper toward her and beginning to write. "Is there a telephone at the place?" enquired Mershone abruptly. 

"Yes. "

"Then telephone Cerise after I'm gone. That will make it doubly sure. And give me the number, too, so I can jot it down. I may need it. "

Diana quietly tore up the note. 

"The telephone is better, " she said. "Being in the dark, sir, I prefernot to commit myself in writing. "

"You're quite right, Di, " he exclaimed, admiringly. "But for heaven'ssake don't forget to telephone Madame Cerise. "

"I won't Charlie. And, see here, keep your precious plans to yourself, now and always. I intend to know nothing of what you do. "

"I'm merely the cats-paw, eh? Well, never mind. Is old Cerise to bedepended upon, do you think?"

"Why not?" replied the girl. "Cerise belongs to the Von Taers--body andsoul!"

CHAPTER XI

THE BROWN LIMOUSINE

The second evening of the society Kermess passed without unusual eventand proved very successful in attracting throngs of fashionable peopleto participate in its pleasures. 

Louise and her cousins were at their stations early, and the secondinstallment of Uncle John's flowers was even more splendid and profusethan the first. It was not at all difficult to make sales, and thelittle money drawer began to bulge with its generous receipts. 

Many a gracious smile or nod or word was bestowed upon Miss Merrick bythe society folk; for these people had had time to consider theaccusation against her implied by Diana Von Taer's manner when thepearls were discovered in the empty flower vase. Being rather impartialjudges--for Diana was not a popular favorite with her set--they decidedit was absurd to suppose a niece of wealthy old John Merrick woulddescend to stealing any one's jewelry. Miss Merrick might have anythingher heart desired with-out pausing to count the cost, and moreover shewas credited with sufficient common sense to realize that the Von Taerheirlooms might easily be recognized anywhere. So a little gossipconcerning the queer incident had turned the tide of opinion in Louise'sfavor, and as she was a recent _debutante_ with a charming personalityall vied to assure her she was held blameless. 

A vast coterie of the select hovered about the flower booth all theevening, and the cousins joyously realized they had scored one of thedistinct successes of the Kermess. Arthur could not get very close toLouise this evening; but he enjoyed her popularity and from his modestretirement was able to exchange glances with her at intervals, and theseglances assured him he was seldom absent from her thoughts. 

Aside from this, he had the pleasure of glowering ferociously uponCharlie Mershone, who, failing to obtain recognition from Miss Merrick, devoted himself to his cousin Diana, or at least lounged nonchalantly inthe neighborhood of the Hindoo Booth. Mershone was very quiet. Therewas a speculative look upon his features that denoted an undercurrentof thought. 

Diana's face was as expressionless as ever. She well knew her action ofthe previous evening had severed the cordial relations formerly existingbetween her and Mr. Merrick's nieces, and determined to avoid thepossibility of a snub by keeping aloof from them. She greeted whoeverapproached her station in her usual gracious and cultured manner, andrefrained from even glancing toward Louise. 

Hedrik Von Taer appeared for an hour this evening. He quietly expressedhis satisfaction at the complete arrangements of the Kermess, chatted amoment with his daughter, and then innocently marched over to the flowerbooth and made a liberal purchase from each of the three girls. Evidently the old gentleman had no inkling of the incident of theprevious evening, or that Diana was not still on good terms with theyoung ladies she had personally introduced to society. His action amusedmany who noted it, and Louise blushing but thoroughly self-possessed, exchanged her greetings with Diana's father and thanked him heartilyfor his purchase. Mr. Von Taer stared stonily at Charlie Mershone, butdid not speak to him. 

Going out he met John Merrick, and the two men engaged in conversationmost cordially. 

"You did the trick all right, Von Taer, " said the little millionaire, "and I'm much obliged, as you may suppose. You're not ashamed of mythree nieces, I take it?"

"Your nieces, Mr. Merrick, are very charming young women, " was thedignified reply. "They will grace any station in life to which they maybe called. "

When the evening's entertainment came to an end Arthur Weldon tookLouise home in his new brown limousine, leaving Patsy and her father, Uncle John and Beth to comfortably fill the Doyle motor car. Now thatthe engagement of the young people had been announced and accepted bytheir friends, it seemed very natural for them to prefer their ownsociety. 

"What do you think of it, Uncle John, anyhow?" asked Patsy, as theyrode home. "It's all right, dear, " he announced, with a sigh. "I hateto see my girls take the matrimonial dive, but I guess they've got tocome to it, sooner or later. "

"Later, for me, " laughed Patsy. 

"As for young Weldon, " continued Mr. Merrick, reflectively, "he has somemighty good points, as I found out long ago. Also he has some pointsthat need filing down. But I guess he'll average up with most young men, and Louise seems to like him. So let's try to encourage 'em to be happy;eh, my dears?"

"Louise, " said Beth, slowly, "is no more perfect than Arthur. They bothhave faults which time may eradicate, and as at present they are notdisposed to be hypercritical they ought to get along nicely together. "

"If 't was me, " said the Major, oracularly, "I'd never marry Weldon. "

"He won't propose to you, Daddy dear, " returned Patsy, mischievously;"he prefers Louise. "

"I decided long ago, " said Uncle John, "that I'd never be allowed topick out the husbands for my three girls. Husbands are a matter oftaste, I guess, and a girl ought to know what sort she wants. If shedon't, and makes a mistake, that's _her_ look-out. So you can all choosefor yourselves, when the time comes, and I'll stand by you, my dears, through thick and thin. If the husband won't play fair, you can alwaysbet your Uncle John will. " "Oh, we know, that, " said Patsy, simply;and Beth added: "Of course, Uncle, dear. "

Thursday evening, the third and last of the series, was after all thebanner night of the great Kermess. All the world of society was presentand such wares as remained unsold in the booths were quickly auctionedoff by several fashionable gentlemen with a talent for such brigandage. Then, the national dances and songs having been given and receivedenthusiastically, a grand ball wound up the occasion in the merriestpossible way. 

Charlie Mershone was much in evidence this evening, as he had beenbefore; but he took no active part in the proceedings and refrained fromdancing, his pet amusement. Diana observed that he made frequent tripsdownstairs, perhaps to the hotel offices. No one paid any attention tohis movements, except his cousin, and Miss Von Taer, watching himintently, decided that underneath his calm exterior lurked a great dealof suppressed excitement. 

At last the crowd began to disperse. Uncle John and the Major took Bethand Patsy away early, as soon as their booth was closed; but Louisestayed for a final waltz or two with Arthur. She soon found, however, that the evening's work and excitement had tired her, and asked to betaken home. 

"I'll go and get the limousine around, " said Arthur. "That new chauffeuris a stupid fellow. By the time you've managed in this jam to get yourwraps I shall be ready. Come down in the elevator and I'll meet you atthe Thirty-second street entrance. "

As he reached the street a man--an ordinary servant, to judge from hisappearance--ran into him full tilt, and when they recoiled from theimpact the fellow with a muttered curse raised his fist and struck youngWeldon a powerful blow. Reeling backward, a natural anger seized Arthur, who was inclined to be hot-headed, and he also struck out with hisfists, never pausing to consider that the more dignified act would be tocall the police. 

The little spurt of fistcuffs was brief, but it gave Mershone, who stoodin the shadow of the door-way near by, time to whisper to a policeofficer, who promptly seized the disputants and held them both in afirm grip. 

"What's all this?" he demanded, sternly. 

"That drunken loafer assaulted me without cause" gasped Arthur, panting. 

"It's a lie!" retorted the man, calmly; "he struck me first. "

"Well, I arrest you both, " said the officer. 

"Arrest!" cried Arthur, indignantly; "why, confound it, man, I'm--"

"No talk!" was the stern command. "Come along and keep quiet. "

As if the whole affair had been premeditated and prearranged a patrolwagon at that instant backed to the curb and in spite of Arthur Weldon'sloud protests he was thrust inside with his assailant and at once drivenaway at a rapid gait. 

At the same moment a brown limousine drew up quietly before theentrance. 

Louise, appearing in the doorway in her opera cloak, stood hesitating onthe steps, peering into the street for Arthur. A man in liveryapproached her. 

"This way, please, Miss Merrick, " he said. "Mr. Weldon begs you to beseated in the limousine. He will join you in a moment. "

With this he led the way to the car and held the door open, while thegirl, having no suspicion, entered and sank back wearily upon the seat. Then the door abruptly slammed, and the man in livery leaped to the seatbeside the chauffeur and with a jerk the car darted away. 

So sudden and astounding was this _denouement_ that Louise did not evenscream. Indeed, for the moment her wits were dazed. 

And now Charlie Mershone stepped from his hiding place and with asatirical smile entered the vestibule and looked at his watch. He foundhe had time to show himself again at the Kermess, for a few moments, before driving to the ferry to catch the train for East Orange. 

Some one touched him on the arm. 

"Very pretty, sir, and quite cleverly done, " remarked a quiet voice. 

Mershone started and glared at the speaker, a slender, unassuming man indark clothes. 

"What do you mean, fellow?"

"I've been watching the comedy, sir, and I saw you were the star actor, although you took care to keep hidden in the wings. That bruiser whoraised the row took his arrest very easily; I suppose you've arranged topay his fine, and he isn't worried. But the gentleman surely was in hardluck pounded one minute and pinched the next. You arranged it verycleverly, indeed. "

Charlie was relieved that no mention was made of the abduction ofLouise. Had that incident escaped notice? He gave the man another sharplook and turned away; but the gentle touch again restrained him. 

"Not yet, please, Mr. Mershone. "

"Who are you?" asked the other, scowling. 

"The house detective. It's my business to watch things. So I noticed youtalking to the police officer; I also noticed the patrol wagon standingon the opposite side of the street for nearly an hour--my report on thatwill amuse them at headquarters, won't it? And I noticed you nod to thebruiser, just as your victim came out. "

"Let go of my arm, sir!"

"Do you prefer handcuffs? I arrest you. We'll run over to the stationand explain things. "

"Do you know who I am?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Mershone. I believe I ran you in for less than this, some two years ago. You gave the name of Ryder, then. Better takeanother, to-night. "

"If you're the house detective, why do you mix up in this affair?"enquired Mershone, his anxiety showing in his tone. 

"Your victim was a guest of the house. "

"Not at all. He was merely attending the Kermess. "

"That makes him our guest, sir. Are you ready?"

Mershone glanced around and then lowered his voice. 

"It's all a little joke, my dear fellow, " said he, "and you are liableto spoil everything with your bungling. Here, " drawing; a roll of billsfrom his pocket, "don't let us waste any more time. I'm busy. "

The man chuckled and waved aside the bribe. 

"You certainly are, sir; you're _very_ busy, just now! But I think thesergeant over at the station will give you some leisure. And listen, Mr. Mershone: I've got it in for that policeman you fixed; he's a cheekyindividual and a new man. I'm inclined to think this night's work willcost him his position. And the patrol, which I never can get when I wantit, seems under your direct management. These things have got to beexplained, and I need your help. Ready, sir?"

Mershone looked grave, but he was not wholly checkmated. Thank heaventhe bungling detective had missed the departure of Louise altogether. Charlie's arrest at this critical juncture was most unfortunate, butneed not prove disastrous to his cleverly-laid plot. He decided it wouldbe best to go quietly with the "plain-clothes man. "

Weldon had become nearly frantic in his demands to be released whenMershone was ushered into the station. He started at seeing his enemyand began to fear a thousand terrible, indefinite things, knowing howunscrupulous Mershone was. But the Waldorf detective, who seemedfriendly with the police sergeant, made a clear, brief statement of thefacts he had observed. Mershone denied the accusation; the bruiserdenied it; the policeman and the driver of the patrol wagon likewisestolidly denied it. Indeed, they had quite another story to tell. 

But the sergeant acted on his own judgment. He locked up Mershone, refusing bail. He suspended the policeman and the driver, pendinginvestigation. Then he released Arthur Weldon on his own recognisance, the young man promising to call and testify when required. 

The house detective and Arthur started back to the Waldorf together. 

"Did you notice a young lady come to the entrance, soon after I wasdriven away?" he asked, anxiously. 

"A lady in a rose-colored opera cloak, sir?"

"Yes! yes!"

"Why, she got into a brown limousine and rode away. " Arthur gave asigh of relief. 

"Thank goodness that chauffeur had a grain of sense, " said he. "Iwouldn't have given him credit for it. Anyway, I'm glad Miss Merrick issafe. "

"Huh!" grunted the detective, stopping short. "I begin to see this thingin its true light. How stupid we've been!"

"In what way?" enquired Arthur, uneasily. 

"Why did Mershone get you arrested, just at that moment?"

"Because he hated me, I suppose. "

"Tell me, could he have any object in spiriting away that young lady--inabducting her?" asked the detective. 

"Could he?" cried Arthur, terrified and trembling. "He had every objectknown to villainy. Come to the hotel! Let's hurry, man--let's fly!"

CHAPTER XII

FOGERTY

At the Waldorf Arthur's own limousine was standing by the curb. Thestreet was nearly deserted. The last of the Kermess people had gonehome. 

Weldon ran to his chauffeur. 

"Did you take Miss Merrick home?" he eagerly enquired. 

"Miss Merrick? Why, I haven't seen her, sir, I thought you'd allforgotten me. "

The young man's heart sank. Despair seized him. The detective wascarefully examining the car. 

"They're pretty nearly mates, Mr. Weldon. As far as the brown color andgeneral appearances go, " he said. "But I'm almost positive the car thatcarried the young lady away was of another make. "

"What make was it?"

The man shook his head. 

"Can't say, sir. I was mighty stupid, and that's a fact. But my mind wasso full of that assault and battery case, and the trickery of thatfellow Mershone, that I wasn't looking for anything else. "

"Can you get away?" asked Arthur. "Can you help me on this case?"

"No, sir; I must remain on duty at the hotel. But perhaps the young ladyis now safe at home, and we've been borrowing trouble. In case she'sbeen stolen, however, you'd better see Fogerty. "

"Who's Fogerty?"

"Here's his card, sir. He's a private detective, and may be busy justnow, for all I know. But if you can get Fogerty you've got the best manin all New York. "

Arthur sprang into the seat beside his driver and hurried post-haste tothe Merrick residence. In a few minutes Mrs. Merrick was in violenthysterics at the disappearance of her daughter. Arthur stopped longenough to telephone for a doctor and then drove to the Doyles. He routedup Uncle John and the Major, who appeared in pajamas and bath-robes, andtold them the startling news. 

A council of war was straightway held. Uncle John trembled withnervousness; Arthur was mentally stupefied; the Major alone was calm. 

"In the first place, " said he, "what object could the man have incarrying off Louise?" Arthur hesitated. 

"To prevent our marriage, I suppose, " he answered. "Mershone has an ideahe loves Louise. He made wild love to her until she cut hisacquaintance. "

"But it won't help him any to separate her from her friends, or herpromised husband, " declared the Major. "Don't worry. We're sure to findher, sooner or later. "

"How? How shall we find her?" cried Uncle John. "Will he murder her, orwhat?"

"Why, as for that, John, he's safe locked up in jail for the present, and unable to murder anyone, " retorted the Major. "It's probable hemeant to follow Louise, and induce her by fair means or foul to marryhim. But he's harmless enough for the time being. "

"It's not for long, though, " said Arthur, fearfully. "They're liable tolet him out in the morning, for he has powerful friends, scoundrelthough he is. And when he is free--"

"Then he must be shadowed, of course, " returned the Major, noddingwisely. "If it's true the fellow loves Louise, then he's no intentionof hurting her. So make your minds easy. Wherever the poor lass has beentaken to, she's probably safe enough. "

"But think of her terror--her suffering!" cried Uncle John, wringing hischubby hands. "Poor child! It may be his idea to compromise her, andbreak her heart!"

"We'll stop all that, John, never fear, " promised the Major. "The firstthing to do is to find a good detective. "

"Fogerty!" exclaimed Arthur, searching for the card. 

"Who's Fogerty?"

"I don't know. "

"Get the best man possible!" commanded Mr. Merrick. "Spare no expense;hire a regiment of detectives, if necessary; I'll--"

"Of course you will, " interrupted the Major, smiling. "But we won't needa regiment. I'm pretty sure the game is in our hands, from the verystart. "

"Fogerty is highly recommended, " explained Arthur, and related what thehouse detective of the Waldorf had said. 

"Better go at once and hunt him up, " suggested Uncle John. "What time isit?"

"After two o'clock. But I'll go at once. " "Do; and let us hear from youwhenever you've anything to tell us, " said the Major. 

"Where's Patsy?" asked Arthur. 

"Sound asleep. Mind ye, not a word of this to Patsy till she _has_ to betold. Remember that, John. "

"Well, I'll go, " said the young man, and hurried away. 

Q. Fogerty lived on Eleventh street, according to his card. Arthur drovedown town, making good time. The chauffeur asked surlily if this was tobe "an all-night job, " and Arthur savagely replied that it might take aweek. "Can't you see, Jones, that I'm in great trouble?" he added. "Butyou shall be well paid for your extra time. "

"All right, sir. That's no more than just, " said the man. "It's none ofmy affair, you know, if a young lady gets stolen. "

Arthur was wise enough to restrain his temper and the temptation to kickJones out of the limousine. Five minutes later they paused before ablock of ancient brick dwellings and found Fogerty's number. A card overthe bell bore his name, and Arthur lit a match and read it. Then he rangimpatiently. 

Only silence. 

Arthur rang a second time; waited, and rang again. A panic of fear tookpossession of him. At this hour of night it would be well-nighimpossible to hunt up another detective if Fogerty failed him. Hedetermined to persist as long as there was hope. Again he rang. 

"Look above, sir, " called Jones from his station in the car. 

Arthur stepped back on the stone landing and looked up. A round spark, as from a cigarette, was visible at the open window. While he gazed thespark glowered brighter and illumined a pale, haggard boy's face, surmounted by tousled locks of brick colored hair. 

"Hi, there!" said Arthur. "Does Mr. Fogerty live here?"

"He pays the rent, " answered a boyish voice, with a tinge of irony. "What's wanted?" "Mr. Fogerty is wanted. Is he at home?"

"He is, " responded the boy. 

"I must see him at once--on important business. Wake him up, my lad;will you?"

"Wait a minute, " said the youth, and left the window. Presently heopened the front door, slipped gently out and closed the door behindhim. 

"Let's sit in your car, " he said, in soft, quiet tones. "We can talkmore freely there. "

"But I must see Fogerty at once!" protested Arthur. 

"I'm Fogerty. "

"Q. Fogerty?"

"Quintus Fogerty--the first and last and only individual of that name. "

Arthur hesitated; he was terribly disappointed. 

"Are you a detective?" he enquired. 

"By profession. "

"But you can't be very old. "

The boy laughed. 

"I'm no antiquity, sir, " said he, "but I've shed the knickerbockerslong ago. Who sent you to me?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm tired. I've been busy twenty-three weeks. Just finished my caseyesterday and need a rest--a good long rest. But if you want a man I'llrefer you to a friend. "

"Gorman, of the Waldorf, sent me to you--and said you'd help me. "

"Oh; that's different. Case urgent, sir?"

"Very. The young lady I'm engaged to marry was abducted less than threehours ago. "

Fogerty lighted another cigarette and the match showed Arthur that theyoung face was deeply lined, while two cold gray eyes stared blanklyinto his own. 

"Let's sit in your limousine, sir, " he repeated. 

When they had taken their places behind the closed doors the boy askedArthur to tell him "all about it, and don't forget any details, please. "So Weldon hastily told the events of the evening and gave a history ofMershone and his relations with Miss Merrick. The story was not halftold when Fogerty said:

"Tell your man to drive to the police station. "

On the way Arthur resumed his rapid recital and strove to post theyoung detective as well as he was able. Fogerty made no remarks, nor didhe ask a single question until Weldon had told him everything he couldthink of. Then he made a few pointed enquiries and presently they hadarrived at the station. 

The desk sergeant bowed with great respect to the youthful detective. Bythe dim light Arthur was now able to examine Fogerty for the first time. 

He was small, slim and lean. His face attested to but eighteen ornineteen years, in spite of its deep lines and serious expression. Although his hair was tangled and unkempt Fogerty's clothing and linenwere neat and of good quality. He wore a Scotch cap and a horseshoe pinin his cravat. 

One might have imagined him to be an errand boy, a clerk, a chauffeur, asalesman or a house man. You might have placed him in almost anymiddle-class walk in life. Perhaps, thought Arthur, he might even be agood detective! yet his personality scarcely indicated it. 

"Mershone in, Billy?" the detective asked the desk sergeant. 

"Room 24. Want him?"

"Not now. When is he likely to go?"

"When Parker relieves me. There's been a reg'lar mob here to getMershone off. I couldn't prevent his using the telephone; but I'm astubborn duck; eh, Quintus? And now the gentleman has gone to bed, vowing vengeance. "

"You're all right, Billy. We both know Mershone. Gentleman scoundrel. "

"Exactly. Swell society blackleg. "

"What name's he docked under?"

"Smith. "

"Will Parker let him off with a fine?"

"Yes, or without it. Parker comes on at six. "

"Good. I'll take a nap on that bench. Got to keep the fellow in sight, Billy. "

"Go into my room. There's a cot there. "

"Thanks, old man; I will. I'm dead tired. "

Then Fogerty took Arthur aside. "Go home and try to sleep, " headvised. "Don't worry. The young lady's safe enough till Mershone goesto her hiding place. When he does, I'll be there, too, and I'll try tohave you with me. "

"Do you think you can arrange it alone, Mr. Fogerty?" asked Arthur, doubtfully. The boy seemed so very young. 

"Better than if I had a hundred to assist me. Why, this is an easy job, Mr. Weldon. It 'll give me a fine chance to rest up. "

"And you won't lose Mershone?"

"Never. He's mine. "

"This is very important to me, sir, " continued Arthur, nervously. 

"Yes; and to others. Most of all it's important to Fogerty. Don't worry, sir. "

The young man was forced to go away with this assurance. He returnedhome, but not to sleep. He wondered vaguely if he had been wise to leanupon so frail a reed as Fogerty seemed to be; and above all he wonderedwhere poor Louise was, and if terror and alarm were breaking her heart. 

CHAPTER XIII

DIANA REVOLTS

Charlie Mershone had no difficulty in securing his release when Parkercame on duty at six o'clock. He called up a cab and went at once to hisrooms at the Bruxtelle; and Fogerty followed him. 

While he discarded his dress-coat, took a bath and donned his walkingsuit Mershone was in a brown study. Hours ago Louise had been safelylanded at the East Orange house and placed in the care of old MadameCerise, who would guard her like an ogre. There was no immediate need ofhis hastening after her, and his arrest and the discovery of half hisplot had seriously disturbed him. This young man was no novice inintrigue, nor even in crime. Arguing from his own stand-point herealized that the friends of Louise were by this time using everyendeavor to locate her. They would not succeed in this, he was positive. His plot had been so audacious and all clews so cleverly destroyed orcovered up that the most skillful detective, knowing he had abducted thegirl; would be completely baffled in an attempt to find her. 

The thought of detectives, in this connection, led him to decide that hewas likely to be shadowed. That was the most natural thing for hisopponents to do. They could not prove Mershone's complicity in thedisappearance of Louise Merrick, but they might easily suspect him, after that little affair of Weldon's arrest. Therefore if he went to thegirl now he was likely to lead others to her. Better be cautious andwait until he had thrown the sleuths off his track. 

Having considered this matter thoroughly, Mershone decided to remainquiet. By eight o'clock he was breakfasting in the grill room, andFogerty occupied a table just behind him. 

During the meal it occurred to Charlie to telephone to Madame Cerise forassurance that Louise had arrived safely and without a scene to attractthe attention of strangers. Having finished breakfast he walked into thetelephone booth and was about to call his number when a thought struckhim. He glanced out of the glass door. In the hotel lobby were manyloungers. He saw a dozen pairs of eyes fixed upon him idly or curiously;one pair might belong to the suspected detective. If he used thetelephone there would be a way of discovering the number he had askedfor. That would not do--not at all! He concluded not to telephone, atpresent, and left the booth. His next act was to purchase a morningpaper, and seating himself carelessly in a chair he controlled theimpulse to search for a "scare head" on the abduction of Miss Merrick. If he came across the item, very well; he would satisfy no critical eyethat might be scanning him by hunting for it with a show of eagerness. The game was in his hands, he believed, and he intended to keep itthere. 

Fogerty was annoyed by the man's evident caution. It would not be easyto surprise Mershone in any self-incriminating action. But, after all, reflected the boy, resting comfortably in the soft-padded cushions of abig leather chair, all this really made the case the more interesting. He was rather glad Mershone was in no hurry to precipitate a climax. Along stern chase was never a bad chase. 

By and bye another idea occurred to Charlie. He would call upon hiscousin Diana, and get her to telephone Madame Cerise for informationabout Louise. It would do no harm to enlighten Diana as to what he haddone. She must suspect it already; and was she not a co-conspirator?But he could not wisely make this call until the afternoon. So meantimehe took a stroll into Broadway and walked leisurely up and down thatthoroughfare, pausing occasionally to make a trifling purchase andturning abruptly again and again in the attempt to discover who might befollowing him. No one liable to be a detective of any sort could hediscern; yet he was too shrewd to be lulled into a false belief that hiseach and every act was unobserved. 

Mershone returned to his hotel, went to his room, and slept until afterone o'clock, as he had secured but little rest the night before in hisprimitive quarters at the police station. It was nearly two when hereappeared in the hotel restaurant for luncheon, and he took his seatand ate with excellent appetite. 

During this meal Mr. Fogerty also took occasion to refresh himself, eating modestly at a retired table in a corner. Mershone's sharp eyesnoted him. He remembered seeing this youth at breakfast, andthoughtfully reflected that the boy's appearance was not such as mightbe expected from the guest of a fashionable and high-priced hotel. Silently he marked this individual as the possible detective. He had twoor three others in his mind, by this time; the boy was merely added tothe list of possibilities. 

Mershone was a capital actor. After luncheon he sauntered about thehotel, stared from the window for a time, looked at his watch once ortwice with an undecided air, and finally stepped to the porter and askedhim to call a cab. He started for Central Park; then changed his mindand ordered the man to drive him to the Von Taer residence, where onarrival Diana at once ordered him shown into her private parlor. 

The young man found his cousin stalking up and down in an extremelynervous manner. She wrung her delicate fingers with a swift, spasmodicmotion. Her eyes, nearly closed, shot red rays through their slits. 

"What's wrong, Di?" demanded Mershone, considerably surprised by thisintense display of emotion on the part of his usually self-suppressedand collected cousin. 

"Wrong!" she echoed; "everything is wrong. You've ruined yourself, Charlie; and you're going to draw me into this dreadful crime, also, inspite of all I can do!"

"Bah! don't be a fool, " he observed, calmly taking a chair. 

"Am _I_ the fool?" she exclaimed, turning upon him fiercely. "Did _I_calmly perpetrate a deed that was sure to result in disgrace anddefeat?"

"What on earth has happened to upset you?" he asked, wonderingly. "Itstrikes me everything is progressing beautifully. "

"Does it, indeed?" was her sarcastic rejoinder. "Then your informationis better than mine. They called me up at three o'clock this morning toenquire after Louise Merrick--as if _I_ should know her whereabouts. Whydid they come to _me_ for such information? Why?" she stamped her footfor emphasis. 

"I suppose, " said Charlie Mershone, "they called up everyone who knowsthe girl. It would be natural in case of her disappearance. "

"Come here!" cried Diana, seizing his arm and dragging him to a window. "Be careful; try to look out without showing yourself. Do you see thatman on the corner?"

"Well?"

"He has been patrolling this house since day-break. He's a detective!"

Charlie whistled. 

"What makes you think so, Di? Why on earth should they suspect you?"

"Why? Because my disreputable cousin planned the abduction, withoutconsulting me, and--"

"Oh, come, Di; that's a little too--"

"Because the girl has been carried to the Von Taer house--_my_ house--inEast Orange; because my own servant is at this moment her jailor, and--"

"How should they know all this?" interrupted Mershone, impatiently. "Andhow do you happen to know it yourself, Diana?"

"Madame Cerise called me up at five o'clock, just after Louise's unclehad been here for the second time, with a crew of officers. Cerise is inan ugly mood. She said a young girl had been brought to her a prisoner, and Mr. Mershone's orders were to keep her safely until he came. She isgreatly provoked at our using her in this way, but promised to followinstructions if I accepted all responsibility. "

"What did you tell her?"

"That I knew nothing of the affair, but had put the house and herservices at your disposal. I said I would accept no responsibilitywhatever for anything you might do. "

Mershone looked grave, and scowled. 

"The old hag won't betray us, will she?" he asked, uneasily. 

"She cannot betray me, for I have done nothing. Charlie, " she said, suddenly facing him, "I won't be mixed in this horrid affair. You mustcarry out your infamous plan in your own way. I know nothing, sir, ofwhat you have done; I know nothing of what you intend to do. Do youunderstand me?"

He smiled rather grimly. 

"I hardly expected, my fair cousin, that you would be frightened intoretreat at this stage of the game, when the cards are all in our hands. Do you suppose I decided to carry away Louise without fully consideringwhat I was doing, and the immediate consequences of my act? And whereinhave I failed? All has gone beautifully up to this minute. Diana, yourfears are absolutely foolish, and against your personal interests. Allthat I am doing for myself benefits you doubly. Just consider, if youwill, what has been accomplished for our mutual benefit: The girl hasdisappeared under suspicious circumstances; before she again rejoins herfamily and friends she will either be my wife or Arthur Weldon willprefer not to marry her. That leaves him open to appreciate the charmsof Diana Von Taer, does it not? Already, my dear cousin, your wishes areaccomplished. My own task, I admit, is a harder one, because it is moredelicate. "

The cold-blooded brutality of this argument caused even Diana toshudder. She looked at the young man half fearfully as she asked:

"What is your task?"

"Why, first to quiet Louise's fears; then to turn her by speciousarguments--lies, if you will--against Weldon; next to induce her togive me her hand in honest wedlock. I shall tell her of my love, whichis sincere; I shall argue--threaten, if necessary; use every reasonablemeans to gain her consent. "

"You'll never succeed!" cried Diana, with conviction. 

"Then I'll try other tactics, " said he blandly. 

"If you do, you monster, I'll expose you, " warned the girl. 

"Having dissolved partnership, you won't be taken into my confidence, myfair cousin. You have promised to know nothing of my acts, and I'll seeyou don't. " Then he sprang from his chair and came to her with a hard, determined look upon his face. "Look here, Di; I've gone too far in thisgame to back out now, I'm going to carry it through if it costs me mylife and liberty--and yours into the bargain! I love Louise Merrick! Ilove her so well that without her the world and its mockeries can go tothe devil! There's nothing worth living for but Louise--Louise. She'sgoing to be my wife, Diana--by fair means or foul I swear to make her mywife. "

He had worked himself up to a pitch of excitement surpassing that ofDiana. Now he passed his hand over his forehead, collected himself witha slight shudder, and resumed his seat. 

Diana was astonished. His fierce mood served to subdue her own. Regarding him curiously for a time she finally asked:

"You speak as if you were to be allowed to have your own way--as if allsociety was not arrayed against you. Have you counted the cost of youraction? Have you considered the consequences of this crime?"

"I have committed no crime, " he said stubbornly. "All's fair in love andwar. "

"The courts will refuse to consider that argument, I imagine, " sheretorted. "Moreover, the friends of this kidnaped girl are powerful andactive. They will show you no mercy if you are discovered. "

"If I fail, " answered Mershone, slowly, "I do not care a continentalwhat they do to me, for my life will be a blank without Louise. But Ireally see no reason to despair, despite your womanish croakings. Allseems to be going nicely and just as I had anticipated. "

"I am glad that you are satisfied, " Diana returned, with scornfulemphasis. "But understand me, sir; this is none of my affair in anyway--except that I shall surely expose you if a hair of the girl's headis injured. You must not come here again. I shall refuse to see you. Youought not to have come to-day. "

"Is there anything suspicious in my calling upon my cousin--as usual?"

"Under such circumstances, yes. You have not been received at this houseof late years, and my father still despises you. There is another dangeryou have brought upon me. My father seemed suspicious this morning, andasked me quite pointedly what I knew of this strange affair. "

"But of course you lied to him. All right, Diana; perhaps there isnothing to be gained from your alliance, and I'll let you out of thedeal from this moment. The battle's mine, after all, and I'll fight italone. But--I need more money. You ought to be willing to pay, for so farthe developments are all in your favor. "

She brought a handful of notes from her desk. 

"This ends our partnership, Charlie, " she said. 

"Very well. A woman makes a poor conspirator, but is invaluable as abanker. "

"There will be no more money. This ends everything between us. "

"I thought you were game, Di. But you're as weak as the ordinaryfeminine creation. "

She did not answer, but stood motionless, a defiant expression upon herface. He laughed a little, bowed mockingly, and went away. 

CHAPTER XIV

A COOL ENCOUNTER

On leaving the house Mershone buttoned his overcoat tightly up to hischin, for the weather was cold and raw, and then shot a quick glancearound him. Diana's suspect was still lounging on the corner. Charliehad little doubt he was watching the house and the movements of itsin-mates--a bad sign, he reflected, with a frown. Otherwise the streetseemed deserted. 

He had dismissed the cab on his arrival, so now he stepped out andwalked briskly around the corner, swinging his cane jauntily and lookingvery unlike a fugitive. In the next block he passed a youth who stoodearnestly examining the conventional display in a druggist's window. 

Mershone, observing this individual, gave a start, but did not alter hispace. It was the same pale, red-haired boy he had noticed twice beforeat the hotel. In his alert, calculating mind there was no coincidence inthis meeting. Before he had taken six more steps Mershone realized theexact situation. 

At the next crossing he stopped and waited patiently for a car. Up thestreet he still saw the youth profoundly interested in drugs--a class ofmerchandise that seldom calls for such close inspection. The car arrivedand carried Mershone away. It also left the red-haired youth at his postbefore the window. Yet on arriving at the Bruxtelle some twenty minuteslater Charlie found this same queer personage occupying a hotel chair inthe lobby and apparently reading a newspaper with serious attention. 

He hesitated a moment, then quietly walked over to a vacant chair besidethe red-haired one and sat down. The youth turned the paper, glancedcasually at his neighbor, and continued reading. 

"A detective, I believe, " said Mershone, in a low, matter of fact tone. 

"Who? me?" asked Fogerty, lowering the paper. 

"Yes. Your age deceived me for a time. I imagined you were a newsboy ora sporting kid from the country; but now I observe you are older thanyou appear. All sorts of people seem to drift into the detectivebusiness. I suppose your present occupation is shadowing me. "

Fogerty smiled. The smile was genuine. 

"I might even be a lawyer, sir, " he replied, "and in that case I shouldundertake to cross-examine you, and ask your reasons for so queer acharge. "

"Or you might be a transient guest at this hotel, " the other returned, in the same bantering tone, "for I saw you at breakfast and luncheon. Pretty fair _chef_ here, isn't he? But you didn't stick to that part, you know. You followed me up-town, where I made a call on a relative, and you studied the colored globes in a druggist's window when I wentaway. I wonder why people employ inexperienced boys in such importantmatters. In your case, my lad, it was easy enough to detect thedetective. You even took the foolish chance of heading me off, andreturned to this hotel before I did. Now, then, is my charge unfounded?"

"Why should you be under the surveillance of a detective?" askedFogerty, slowly. 

"Really, my boy, I cannot say. There was an unpleasant little affairlast night at the Waldorf, in which I was not personally concerned, butsuffered, nevertheless. An officious deputy caused my arrest and Ispent an unpleasant night in jail. There being nothing in the way ofevidence against me I was released this morning, and now I find adetective shadowing me. What can it all mean, I wonder? These stupidblunders are very annoying to the plain citizen, who, however innocent, feels himself the victim of a conspiracy. "

"I understand you, sir, " said Fogerty, drily. 

For some moments Mershone now remained silent. Then he asked; "What areyour instructions concerning me?"

To his surprise the boy made a simple, frank admission. 

"I'm to see you don't get into more mischief, sir. "

"And how long is this nonsense to continue?" demanded Mershone, showinga touch of anger for the first time. 

"Depends on yourself, Mr. Mershone; I'm no judge, myself. I'm soyoung--and inexperienced. "

"Who is your employer?"

"Oh, I'm just sent out by an agency. "

"Is it a big paying proposition?" asked Charlie, eyeing the diffidentyouth beside him critically, as if to judge his true caliber. 

"Not very big. You see, if I'd been a better detective you'd never havespotted me so quickly. "

"I suppose money counts with you, though, as it does with everyone elsein the world?"

"Of course, sir. Every business is undertaken to make money. "

Mershone drew his chair a little nearer. 

"I need a clever detective myself, " he announced, confidentially. "I'manxious to discover what enemy is persecuting me in this way. Wouldit--er--be impossible for me to employ _you_ to--er--look after myinterests?"

Fogerty was very serious. 

"You see, sir, " he responded, "if I quit this job they may not give meanother. In order to be a successful detective one must keep in the goodgraces of the agencies. "

"That's easy enough, " asserted Mershone. "You may pretend to keep thisjob, but go home and take life easy. I'll send you a daily statement ofwhat I've been doing, and you can fix up a report to your superior fromthat. In addition to this you can put in a few hours each day trying tofind out who is annoying me in this rascally manner, and for thisservice I'll pay you five times the agency price. How does thatproposition strike you, Mr. --"

"Riordan. Me name's Riordan, " said Fogerty, with a smile. "No, Mr. Mershone, " shaking his head gravely, "I can't see my way to favor you. It's an easy job now, and I'm afraid to take chances with a harder one. "

Something in the tone nettled Mershone. 

"But the pay, " he suggested. 

"Oh, the pay. If I'm a detective fifty years, I'll make an easy twothousand a year. That's a round hundred thousand. Can you pay me thatmuch to risk my future career as a detective?"

Mershone bit his lip. This fellow was not so simple, after all, boyishas he seemed. And, worse than all, he had a suspicion the youngster wasbaiting him, and secretly laughing at his offers of bribery. 

"They will take you off the job, now that I have discovered youridentity, " he asserted, with malicious satisfaction. 

"Oh, no, " answered Fogerty; "they won't do that. This little interviewmerely simplifies matters. You see, sir, I'm an expert at disguises. That's my one great talent, as many will testify. But you will noticethat in undertaking this job I resorted to no disguise at all. You seeme as nature made me--and 't was a poor job, I'm thinking. "

"Why were you so careless?"

"It wasn't carelessness; it was premeditated. There's not the slightestobjection to your knowing me. My only business is to keep you in sight, and I can do that exactly as well as Riordan as I could by disguisingmyself. "

Mershone had it on his tongue's end to ask what they expected todiscover by shadowing him, but decided it was as well not to open anavenue for the discussion of Miss Merrick's disappearance. So, findinghe could not bribe the youthful detective or use him in any way to hisadvantage, he closed the interview by rising. 

"I'm going to my room to write some letters, " said he, with a yawn. "Would you like to read them before they are mailed?"

Again Fogerty laughed in his cheerful, boyish way. 

"You'd make a fine detective yourself, Mr. Mershone, " he declared, "andI advise you to consider the occupation. I've a notion it's safer, andbetter pay, than your present line. "

Charlie scowled at the insinuation, but walked away without reply. Fogerty eyed his retreating figure a moment, gave a slight shrug andresumed his newspaper. 

Day followed day without further event, and gradually Mershone came tofeel himself trapped. Wherever he might go he found Fogerty on duty, unobtrusive, silent and watchful. It was very evident that he waswaiting for the young man to lead him to the secret hiding place ofLouise Merrick. 

In one way this constant surveillance was a distinct comfort to CharlieMershone, for it assured him that the retreat of Louise was stillundiscovered. But he must find some way to get rid of his "shadow, " inorder that he might proceed to carry out his plans concerning the girl. During his enforced leisure he invented a dozen apparently cleverschemes, only to abandon them again as unpractical. 

One afternoon, while on a stroll, he chanced to meet the bruiser who hadattacked Arthur Weldon at the Waldorf, and been liberally paid byMershone for his excellent work. He stopped the man, and glancinghastily around found that Fogerty was a block in the rear. 

"Listen, " he said; "I want your assistance, and if you're quick and surethere is a pot of money, waiting for you. "

"I need it, Mr. Mershone, " replied the man, grinning. 

"There's a detective following me; he's down the street there--a mereboy--just in front of that tobacco store. See him?"

"Sure I see him. It's Fogerty. "

"His name is Riordan. "

"No; it's Fogerty. He's no boy, sir, but the slickest 'tec' in the city, an' that's goin' some, I can tell you. "

"Well, you must get him, whoever he is. Drag him away and hold him forthree hours--two--one. Give me a chance to slip him; that's all. Canyou do it? I'll pay you a hundred for the job. "

"It's worth two hundred, Mr. Mershone. It isn't safe to fool withFogerty. "

"I'll make it two hundred. "

"Then rest easy, " said the man. "I know the guy, and how to handle him. You just watch him like he's watching you, Mr. Mershone, and if anythinghappens you skip as lively as a flea. I can use that two hundred in mybusiness. "

Then the fellow passed on, and Fogerty was still so far distant up thestreet that neither of them could see the amused smile upon his thinface. 

CHAPTER XV

A BEWILDERING EXPERIENCE

When Louise Merrick entered the brown limousine, which she naturallysupposed to belong to Arthur Weldon, she had not the faintest suspicionof any evil in her mind. Indeed, the girl was very happy this especialevening, although tired with her duties at the Kermess. A climax in heryoung life had arrived, and she greeted it joyously, believing she lovedArthur well enough to become his wife. 

Now that the engagement had been announced to their immediate circle offriends she felt as proud and elated as any young girl has a right to beunder the circumstances. 

Added to this pleasant event was the social triumph she and her cousinshad enjoyed at the Kermess, where Louise especially had met with rarefavor. The fashionable world had united in being most kind andconsiderate to the dainty, attractive young _debutante_, and only Dianahad seemed to slight her. This was not surprising in view of the factthat Diana evidently wanted Arthur for herself, and there was somesatisfaction in winning a lover who was elsewhere in prime demand. Inaddition to all this the little dance that concluded the evening'sentertainment had been quite delightful, and all things conspired to putLouise in a very contented frame of mind. Still fluttering with theinnocent excitements of the hour the girl went to join Arthur without afear of impending misfortune. She did not think of Charlie Mershone atall. He had been annoying and impertinent, and she had rebuked him andsent him away, cutting him out of her life altogether. Perhaps she oughtto have remembered that she had mildly flirted with Diana's cousin andgiven him opportunity for the impassioned speeches she resented; butLouise had a girlish idea that there was no harm in flirting, considering it a feminine license. She saw young Mershone at the Kermessthat evening paying indifferent attentions to other women and ignoringher, and was sincerely glad to have done with him for good and all. 

She obeyed readily the man who asked her to be seated in the limousine. Arthur would be with her in a minute, he said. When the door closed andthe car started she had an impulse to cry out but next moment controlledit and imagined they were to pick up Mr. Weldon on some corner. 

On and on they rolled, and still no evidence of the owner of thelimousine. What could it mean, Louise began to wonder. Had somethinghappened to Arthur, so that he had been forced to send her home alone?As the disquieting thought came she tried to speak with the chauffeur, but could not find the tube. The car was whirling along rapidly; thenight seemed very dark, only a few lights twinkled here and thereoutside. 

Suddenly the speed slackened. There was a momentary pause, and then themachine slowly rolled upon a wooden platform. A bell clanged, there wasa whistle and the sound of revolving water-wheels. Louise decided theymust be upon a ferry-boat, and became alarmed for the first time. 

The man in livery now opened the door, as if to reassure her. 

"Where are we? Where is Mr. Weldon?" enquired the girl, almosthysterically. 

"He is on the boat, miss, and will be with you shortly now, " replied theman, very respectfully. "Mr. Weldon is very sorry to have annoyed you, Miss Merrick, but says he will soon explain everything, so that you willunderstand why he left you. "

With this he quietly closed the door again, although Louise was eager toask a dozen more questions. Prominent was the query why they should beon a ferry-boat instead of going directly home. She knew the hour mustbe late. 

But while these questions were revolving in her mind she still suspectedno plot against her liberty. She must perforce wait for Arthur toexplain his queer conduct; so she sat quietly enough in her placeawaiting his coming, while the ferry puffed steadily across the river tothe Jersey shore. 

The stopping of the boat aroused Louise from her reflections. Arthur nothere yet? Voices were calling outside; vehicles were noisily leavingtheir positions on the boat to clatter across the platforms. But therewas no sign of Arthur. 

Again Louise tried to find the speaking tube. Then she made an endeavorto open the door, although just then the car started with a jerk thatflung her back against the cushions. 

The knowledge that she had been grossly deceived by her conductor atlast had the effect of arousing the girl to a sense of her danger. Something must be wrong. Something _was_ decidedly wrong, and fear creptinto her heart. She pounded on the glass windows with all her strength, and shouted as loudly as she could, but all to no avail. 

Swiftly the limousine whirled over the dusky road and either her voicecould not be heard through the glass cage in which she was confined orthere was no one near who was willing to hear or to rescue her. 

She now realized how wrong she had been to sit idly during the tripacross the ferry, where a score of passengers would gladly have assistedher. How cunning her captors had been to lull her fears during thatcritical period! Now, alas, it was too late to cry out, and she had noidea where she was being taken or the reason of her going. 

Presently it occurred to her that this was not Arthur's limousine atall. There was no speaking tube for one thing. She leaned forward andfelt for the leathern pocket in which she kept a veil and her streetgloves. No pocket of any sort was to be found. 

An unreasoning terror now possessed her. She knew not what to fear, yetfeared everything. She made another attempt to cry aloud for help andthen fell back unconscious on the cushions. 

How long she lay in the faint she did not know. When she recovered thelimousine was still rattling forward at a brisk gait but bumping overruts in a manner that indicated a country road. 

Through the curtains she could see little but the black night, althoughthere was a glow ahead cast by the searchlights of the car. Louise wasweak and unnerved. She had no energy to find a way to combat her fate, if such a way were possible. A dim thought of smashing a window andhurling herself through it gave her only a shudder of repulsion. Shelacked strength for such a desperate attempt. 

On, on, on. Would the dreary journey never end? How long must she sitand suffer before she could know her fate, or at least find someexplanation of the dreadful mystery of this wild midnight ride?

At last, when she had settled down to dull despair, the car came to apaved road and began to move more slowly. It even stopped once or twice, as if the driver was not sure of his way. But they kept moving, nevertheless, and before long entered a driveway. There was another stopnow, and a long wait. 

Louise lay dismally back upon the cushions, sobbing hysterically intoher dripping handkerchief. The door of her prison at last opened and alight shone in upon her. 

"Here we are, miss, " said the man in uniform, still in quiet, respectfultones. "Shall I assist you to alight?"

She started up eagerly, her courage returning with a bound. Steppingunassisted to the ground she looked around her in bewilderment. 

The car stood before the entrance to a modest country house. There was alight in the hall and another upon the broad porch. Around the house amass of trees and shrubbery loomed dark and forbidding. 

"Where am I?" demanded Louise, drawing back haughtily as the manextended a hand toward her. 

"At your destination, miss, " was the answer. "Will you please enter?"

"No! Not until I have an explanation of this--this--singular, high-handed proceeding, " she replied, firmly. 

Then she glanced at the house. The hall door had opened and a womanstood peering anxiously at the scene outside. 

With sudden resolve Louise sprang up the steps and approached her. Anywoman, she felt, in this emergency, was a welcome refuge. 

"Who are you?" she asked eagerly, "and why have I been brought here?"

"_Mademoiselle_ will come inside, please, " said the woman, with aforeign accent. "It is cold in the night air, _N'est-ce-pas_?"

She turned to lead the way inside. While Louise hesitated to follow thelimousine started with a roar from its cylinders and disappeared downthe driveway, the two men going with it. The absence of the lampsrendered the darkness around the solitary house rather uncanny. Anintense stillness prevailed except for the diminishing rattle of thereceding motor car. In the hall was a light and a woman. 

Louise went in. 

CHAPTER XVI

MADAME CERISE, CUSTODIAN

The woman closed the hall door and locked it. Then she led the way to along, dim drawing-room in which a grate fire was smouldering. A standlamp of antique pattern but dimly illuminated the place, which seemedwell furnished in an old fashioned way. 

"Will not you remove your wraps, Mees--Mees--I do not know ma'm'selle'sname. "

"What is your own name?" asked Louise, coming closer to gaze earnestlyinto the other's face. 

"I am called Madame Cerise, if it please you. "

Her voice, while softened to an extent by the French accent, wasnevertheless harsh and emotionless. She spoke as an automaton, slowly, and pausing to choose her words. The woman was of medium size, slim andstraight in spite of many years. Her skin resembled brown parchment; hereyes were small, black and beady; her nose somewhat fleshy and her lipsred and full as those of a young girl. The age of Madame Cerise might beanywhere between fifty and seventy; assuredly she had long been astranger to youth, although her dark hair was but slightly streaked withgray. She wore a somber-hued gown and a maid's jaunty apron and cap. 

Louise inspected her closely, longing to find a friend and protector inthis curious and strange woman. Her eyes were moist and pleading--anappeal hard to resist. But Madame Cerise returned her scrutiny with awholly impassive expression. 

"You are a French maid?" asked Louise, softly. 

"A housekeeper, ma'm'selle. For a time, a caretaker. "

"Ah, I understand. Are your employers asleep?"

"I cannot say, ma'm'seile. They are not here. "

"You are alone in this house?"

"Alone with you, ma'm'seile. "

Louise had a sudden access of alarm. 

"And why am I here?" she cried, wringing her hands pitifully. 

"Ah, who can tell that?" returned the woman, composedly. "Not Cerise, indeed. Cerise is told nothing--except what is required of her. I butobey my orders. "

Louise turned quickly, at this. 

"What are your orders, then?" she asked. 

"To attend ma'm'selle with my best skill, to give her every comfort andcare, to--"

"Yes--yes!"

"To keep her safely until she is called for. That is all. "

The girl drew a long breath. 

"Who will call for me, then?"

"I am not inform, ma'm'selle. "

"And I am a prisoner in this house?"

"Ma'm'selle may call it so, if it please her. But reflect; there is noplace else to go. It is bleak weather, the winter soon comes. And here Ican make you the comforts you need. "

Louise pondered this speech, which did not deceive her. While stillperplexed as to her abduction, with no comprehension why she should havebeen seized in such a summary manner and spirited to this lonely, out-of-the-way place, she realized she was in no immediate danger. Herweariness returned tenfold, and she staggered and caught the back of achair for support. 

The old woman observed this. 

"Ma'm'selle is tired, " said she. "See; it is past four by the clock, andyou must be much fatigue by the ride and the nervous strain. "

"I--I'm completely exhausted, " murmured Louise, drooping her headwearily. The next moment she ran and placed her hands on Madame Cerise'sshoulders, peering into the round, beady eyes with tender pleading asshe continued: "I don't know why I have been stolen away from my homeand friends; I don't know why this dreadful thing has happened to me; Ionly know that I am worn out and need rest. Will you take care of me, Madame Cerise? Will you watch over me while I sleep and guard me fromall harm? I--I haven't any mother to lean on now, you know; I haven'tany friend at all--but _you!_"

The grim features never relaxed a muscle; but a softer look came intothe dark eyes and the woman's voice took on a faint tinge of compassionas she answered:

"Nothing can harm ma'm'selle. Have no fear, _ma chere_. I will take careof you; I will watch. _Allons_! it is my duty; it is also my pleasure. "

"Are there no--no men in the house--none at all?" enquired the girl, peering into the surrounding gloom nervously. "There is no person atall in the house, but you and I. "

"And you will admit no one?"

The woman hesitated. 

"Not to your apartment, " she said firmly. "I promise it. "

Louise gave a long, fluttering sigh. Somehow, she felt that she couldrely upon this promise. 

"Then, if you please, Madame Cerise, I'd like to go to bed, " she said. 

The woman took the lamp and led the way upstairs, entering a large, airychamber in which a fire burned brightly in the grate. The furniture herewas dainty and feminine. In an alcove stood a snowy bed, the coversinvitingly turned down. 

Madame Cerise set the lamp upon a table and without a word turned toassist Louise. The beautiful Kermess costume, elaborately embroideredwith roses, which the girl still wore, evidently won the Frenchwoman'sapproval. She unhooked and removed it carefully and hung it in a closet. Very dextrous were her motions as she took down the girl's pretty hairand braided it for the night. A dainty _robe de nuit_ was provided. 

"It is my own, " she said simply. "Ma'm'selle is not prepared. " "Butthere must be young ladies in your family, " remarked Louise, thoughtfully, for in spite of the stupor she felt from want of sleep thenovelty of her position kept her alert in a way. It is true she was tootired and bewildered to think clearly, but slight details wereimpressing themselves upon her dimly. "This room, for instance--"

"Of course, _ma chere_, a young lady has lived here. She has left someodd pieces of wardrobe behind her, at times, in going away. When youwaken we will try to find a house-dress to replace your evening-gown. Will ma'm'selle indulge in the bath before retiring?"

"Not to-night, Madame Cerise. I'm too tired for anything but--sleep!"

Indeed, she had no sooner crawled into the enticing bed than she sankinto unconscious forgetfulness. This was to an extent fortunate. Louisepossessed one of those dispositions cheery and equable under ordinarycircumstances, but easily crushed into apathy by any sudden adversity. She would not suffer so much as a more excitable and nervous girl mightdo under similar circumstances. 

Her sleep, following the severe strain of the night's adventure, didlittle to refresh her. She awoke in broad daylight to hear a cold windwhistling shrilly outside and raindrops beating against the panes. 

Madame Cerise had not slept much during the night. For an hour afterLouise retired she sat in her room in deep thought. Then she went to thetelephone and notwithstanding the late hour called up Diana, who had abranch telephone on a table at her bedside. 

Miss Von Taer was not asleep. She had had an exciting night herself. Sheanswered the old caretaker readily and it did not surprise her to learnthat the missing girl had been taken to the East Orange house by theorders of Charlie Mershone. She enquired how Louise had accepted thesituation forced upon her, and was shocked and rendered uncomfortable bythe too plainly worded protest of the old Frenchwoman. Madame Cerise didnot hesitate to denounce the abduction as a heartless crime, and in hercommunication with Diana swore she would protect the innocent girl fromharm at the hands of Mershone or anyone else. 

"I have ever to your family been loyal and true, Ma'm'selle Diana, " saidshe, "but I will not become the instrument of an abominable crime atyour command or that of your wicked cousin. I will keep the girl here insafety, if it is your wish; but she will be safe, indeed, as long asCerise guards her. "

"That's right, Madame, " stammered Diana, hardly knowing at the momentwhat to say. "Be discreet and silent until you hear from me again; guardthe girl carefully and see that she is not too unhappy; but for heaven'ssake keep Charlie's secret until he sees fit to restore Miss Merrick toher friends. No crime is contemplated; I would not allow such a thing, as you know. Yet it is none of my affair whatever. My cousin hascompromised me by taking the girl to my house, and no knowledge of theabduction must get abroad if we can help it. Do you understand me?"

"No, " was the reply. "The safest way for us all is to send Miss Merrickaway. "

"That will be done as soon as possible. "

With this the old Frenchwoman was forced to be content, and she did notsuspect that her report had made Miss Von Taer nearly frantic withfear--not for Louise but for her own precious reputation. Accustomed toobey the family she had served for so many years, Madame Cerisehesitated to follow her natural impulse to set the poor young lady freeand assist her to return to her friends. So she compromised with herconscience--a thing she was not credited with possessing--by resolvingto make the imprisonment of the "_pauvre fille_" as happy as possible. 

Scarcely had Louise opened her eyes the following morning when the oldwoman entered her chamber, unlocking the door from the outside to secureadmission. 

She first rebuilt the fire, and when it was crackling cheerfully sheprepared a bath and brought an armful of clothing which she laid out forinspection over the back of a sofa. She produced lingerie, too, andLouise lay cuddled up in the bedclothes and watched her keeperthoughtfully until the atmosphere of the room was sufficiently warmed. 

"I'll get up, now, " she said, quietly. 

Madame Cerise was assuredly a skilled lady's maid. She bathed the girl, wrapped her in an ample kimono and then seated her before the dresserand arranged her _coiffure_ with dextrous skill. 

During this time Louise talked. She had decided her only chance ofescape lay in conciliating this stern-faced woman, and she began byrelating her entire history, including her love affair with ArthurWeldon, Diana Von Taer's attempt to rob her of her lover, and the partthat Charlie Mershone had taken in the affair. 

Madame Cerise listened, but said nothing. 

"And now, " continued the girl, "tell me who you think could be so wickedand cruel as to carry me away from my home and friends? I cannot decidemyself. You have more experience and more shrewdness, can't you tell me, Madame Cerise?"

The woman muttered inaudibly. 

"Mr. Mershone might be an enemy, because I laughed at his love-making, "continued Louise, musingly. "Would a man who loved a girl try to injureher? But perhaps his love has turned to hate. Anyhow, I can think of noone else who would do such a thing, or of any reason why CharlieMershone should do it. "

Madame Cerise merely grunted. She was brushing the soft hair with gentlecare. 

"What could a man gain by stealing a girl? If it was Mr. Mershone, doeshe imagine I could ever forget Arthur? Or cease to love him? Or thatArthur would forget me while I am away? Perhaps it's Diana, and shewants to get rid of me so she can coax Arthur back to her side. Butthat's nonsense; isn't it, Madame Cerise? No girl--not even Diana VonTaer--would dare to act in such a high-handed manner toward her rival. Did you ever hear of Miss Von Taer? She's quite a society belle. Haveyou ever seen her, Madame Cerise?"

The woman vouchsafed no reply to this direct enquiry, but busied herselfdressing the girl's hair. Louise casually turned over the silver-mountedhand mirror she was holding and gave a sudden start. A monogram wasengraved upon the metal: "D. V. T. " She gazed at the mark fixedly and thenpicked up a brush that the Frenchwoman laid down. Yes, the same monogramappeared upon the brush. 

The sharp eyes of Cerise had noted these movements. She was a littledismayed but not startled when Louise said, slowly: "'D. V. T. ' stands forDiana Von Taer. And it isn't likely to stand for anything else. I thinkthe mystery is explained, now, and my worst fears are realized. Tell me, Madame, is this Diana Von Taer's house?"

Her eyes shone with anger and round red patches suddenly appeared uponher pallid cheeks. Madame Cerise drew a long breath. 

"It used to be, " was her quiet answer. "It was left her by hergrandmother; but Mr. Von Taer did not like the place and they have notbeen here lately--not for years. Miss Von Taer informed me, some timeago, that she had transferred the property to another. "

"To her cousin--Mr. Mershone?" asked Louise quickly. 

"That may be the name; I cannot remember, " was the evasive reply. 

"But you must know him, as he is Diana's cousin, " retorted Louise. "Whywill you try to deceive me? Am I not helpless enough already, and do youwish to make me still more miserable?"

"I have seen Mr. Mershone when he was a boy, many times. He was not thefavorite with Ma'm'selle Diana, nor with Monsieur Von Taer. For myself, I hated him. "

There was decided emphasis to the last sentence. Louise believed her andfelt a little relieved. 

From the _mélange_ of apparel a modest outfit was obtained to clothe thegirl with decency and comfort, if not in the prevailing style. The fitleft much to be desired, yet Louise did not complain, as weightiermatters were now occupying her mind. 

The toilet completed, Madame Cerise disappeared to get a traycontaining a good breakfast. She seemed exceedingly attentive. 

"If you will give me the proper directions I will start for home atonce, " announced Louise, with firm resolve, while eating her egg andtoast. 

"I am unable to give you directions, and I cannot let you go, ma'm'selle, " was the equally firm reply. "The day is much toodisagreeable to venture out in, unless one has proper conveyance. Here, alas, no conveyance may be had. "

Louise tried other tactics. 

"I have no money, but several valuable jewels, " she said, meaningly. "Iam quite sure they will obtain for me a conveyance. "

"You are wrong, ma'm'selle; there is no conveyance to be had!" persistedthe old woman, more sternly. 

"Then I shall walk. "

"It is impossible. "

"Where is this place situated? How far is it from New York? How near amI to a street-car, or to a train?"

"I cannot tell you. "

"But this is absurd!" cried Louise. "You cannot deceive me for long. Iknow this is Diana Von Taer's house, and I shall hold Diana Von Taerresponsible for this enforced imprisonment. "

"That, " said Madame Cerise, coldly, "is a matter of indifference to me. But ma'm'selle must understand one thing, she must not leave thishouse. "

"Oh, indeed!"

"At least, until the weather moderates, " added the woman, more mildly. 

She picked up the tray, went to the door and passed out. Louise heardthe key click in the lock. 

CHAPTER XVII

THE MYSTERY DEEPENS

Uncle John was both astounded and indignant that so bold and unlawful anact as the abduction of his own niece could have been perpetrated in theheart of New York and directly under the eyes of the police. Urged bythe Major, Mr. Merrick was at first inclined to allow Arthur Weldon toprosecute the affair and undertake the recovery of the girl, beingassured this would easily be accomplished and conceding the fact that noone had a stronger interest in solving the mystery of Louise'sdisappearance than young Weldon. But when midday arrived and no trace ofthe young girl had yet been obtained the little millionaire assumed animportant and decisive air and hurried down town to "take a hand in thegame" himself. 

After a long interview with the Chief of Detectives, Mr. Merrick saidimpressively:

"Now, understand, sir; not a hint of this to the newspaper folks. Iwon't have any scandal attached to the poor child if I can help it. Setyour whole force to work--at once!--but impress them with the need ofsecrecy. My offer is fair and square. I'll give a reward of ten thousanddollars if Miss Merrick is discovered within twenty-four hours; ninethousand if she's found during the next twenty-four hours; and so on, deducting a thousand for each day of delay. That's for the officer whofinds her. For yourself, sir, I intend to express my gratitude asliberally as the service will allow me to. Is this all clear andabove-board?"

"It is perfectly clear, Mr. Merrick. "

"The child must be found--and found blamed quick, too! Great Caesar! Cana simple affair like this baffle your splendid metropolitan force?"

"Not for long, Mr. Merrick, believe me. "

But this assurance proved optimistic. Day by day crept by without a clewto the missing girl being discovered; without development of any sort. The Inspector informed Mr. Merrick that "it began to look like amystery. "

Arthur, even after several sleepless nights, still retained his courage. 

"I'm on the right track, sir, " he told Uncle John. "The delay isannoying, but not at all dangerous. So long as Fogerty holds fast toMershone Louise is safe, wherever she may be. "

"Mershone may have nothing to do with the case. "

"I'm positive he has. "

"And Louise can't be safe while she's a prisoner, and in the hands ofstrangers. I want the girl home! Then I'll know she's safe. "

"I want her home, too, sir. But all your men are unable to find her, itseems. They can't even discover in what direction she was taken, or how. The brown limousine seems to be no due at all. "

"Of course not. There are a thousand brown limousines in New York. "

"Do you imagine she's still somewhere in the city, sir?" enquiredArthur. 

"That's my theory, " replied Uncle John. "She must be somewhere in thecity. You see it would be almost impossible to get her out of townwithout discovery. But I'll admit this detective force is the finestaggregation of incompetents I've ever known--and I don't believe yourprecious Fogerty is any better, either. "

Of course Beth and Patsy had to be told of their cousin's disappearanceas soon as the first endeavor to trace her proved a failure. Patsy wentat once to Mrs. Merrick and devoted herself to comforting the poor womanas well as she could. 

Beth frowned at the news and then sat down to carefully think out theproblem. In an hour she had logically concluded that Diana Von Taer wasthe proper person to appeal to. If anyone knew where Louise was, it wasDiana. That same afternoon she drove to the Von Taer residence anddemanded an interview. 

Diana was at that moment in a highly nervous state. She had at timesduring her career been calculating and unscrupulous, but never beforehad she deserved the accusation of being malicious and wicked. She hadcome to reproach herself bitterly for having weakly connived at thedesperate act of Charlie Mershone, and her good sense assured her theresult would be disastrous to all concerned in it. Contempt for herselfand contempt for her cousin mingled with well-defined fears for hercherished reputation, and so it was that Miss Von Taer had almostdecided to telephone Madame Cerise and order her to escort LouiseMerrick to her own home when Beth's card came up with a curt demand fora personal interview. 

The natures of these two girls had never harmonized in the slightestdegree. Beth's presence nerved Diana to a spirit of antagonism thatquickly destroyed her repentant mood. As she confronted her visitor herdemeanor was cold and suspicious. There was a challenge and anaccusation in Beth's eyes that conveyed a distinct warning, which MissVon Taer quickly noted and angrily resented--perhaps because she knew itwas deserved. 

It would have been easy to tell Beth De Graf where her cousin Louisewas, and at the same time to assure her that Diana was blameless in theaffair; but she could not endure to give her antagonist thissatisfaction. 

Beth began the interview by saying: "What have you done with LouiseMerrick?" That was, of course, equal to a declaration of war. 

Diana was sneering and scornful. Thoroughly on guard, she permitted nocompromising word or admission to escape her. Really, she knew nothingof Louise Merrick, having unfortunately neglected to examine herantecedents and personal characteristics before undertaking heracquaintance. One is so likely to blunder through excess of good nature. She had supposed a niece of Mr. John Merrick would be of the right sort;but the age is peculiar, and one cannot be too cautious in choosingassociates. If Miss Merrick had run away from her home and friends, MissVon Taer was in no way responsible for the escapade. And now, if Miss DeGraf had nothing further to say, more important matters demanded Diana'stime. 

Beth was furious with anger at this baiting. Without abandoning a jother suspicions she realized she was powerless to prove her case at thistime. With a few bitter and cutting remarks--made, she afterward said, in "self-defense"--she retreated as gracefully as possible and drovehome. 

An hour later she suggested to Uncle John that he have a detectiveplaced where Diana's movements could be watched; but that had alreadybeen attended to by both Mr. Merrick and Mr. Fogerty. Uncle John couldhardly credit Diana's complicity in this affair. The young lady's socialposition was so high, her family so eminently respectable, her motivein harming Louise so inconceivable, that he hesitated to believe herguilty, even indirectly. As for her cousin, he did not know what tothink, as Arthur accused him unreservedly. It did not seem possible thatany man of birth, breeding and social position could be so contemptibleas to perpetrate an act of this character. Yet some one had done it, andwho had a greater incentive than Charlie Mershone?

Poor Mrs. Merrick was inconsolable as the days dragged by. She clung toPatsy with pitiful entreaties not to be left alone; so Miss Doylebrought her to her own apartments, where the bereft woman was shownevery consideration. Vain and selfish though Mrs. Merrick might be, shewas passionately devoted to her only child, and her fears for the lifeand safety of Louise were naturally greatly exaggerated. 

The group of anxious relatives and friends canvassed the subjectmorning, noon and night, and the longer the mystery remained unsolvedthe more uneasy they all became. 

"This, ma'am, " said Uncle John, sternly, as he sat one evening facingMrs. Merrick, "is the final result of your foolish ambition to get ourgirls into society. "

"I can't see it that way, John, " wailed the poor woman. "I've neverheard of such a thing happening in society before, have you?"

"I don't keep posted, " he growled. "But everything was moving smoothlywith us before this confounded social stunt began, as you must admit. "

"I can't understand why the papers are not full of it, " sighed Mrs. Merrick, musingly. "Louise is so prominent now in the best circles. "

"Of course, " said the Major, drily; "she's so prominent, ma'am, that noone can discover her at all! And it's lucky for us the newspapers knownothing of the calamity. They'd twist the thing into so many shapes thatnot one of us would ever again dare to look a friend in the eye. "

"I'm sure my darling has been murdered!" declared Mrs. Merrick, weepingmiserably. She made the statement on an average of once to every fiveminutes. "Or, if she hasn't been killed yet, she's sure to be soon. Can't _something_ be done?" That last appeal was hard to answer. Theyhad done everything that could be thought of. And here it was Tuesday. Louise had been missing for five days. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A RIFT IN THE CLOUDS

The Tuesday morning just referred to dawned cold and wintry. A chillwind blew and for a time carried isolated snowflakes whirling here andthere. Gradually, as the morning advanced, the flakes became morenumerous, until by nine o'clock an old fashioned snowstorm had set inthat threatened to last for some time. The frozen ground was sooncovered with a thin white mantle and the landscape in city and countryseemed especially forbidding. 

In spite of these adverse conditions Charlie Mershone decided to go outfor a walk. He felt much like a prisoner, and his only recreation was ingetting out of the hotel for a daily stroll. Moreover, he had an objectin going abroad to-day. 

So he buttoned his overcoat up to his chin and fearlessly braved thestorm. He had come to wholly disregard the presence of the detective whoshadowed him, and if the youthful Fogerty by chance addressed him he wasrewarded with a direct snub. This did not seem to disconcert the boy inthe least, and to-day, as usual, when Mershone walked out Fogertyfollowed at a respectful distance. He never appeared to be watching hisman closely, yet never for an instant did Mershone feel that he hadshaken the fellow off. 

On this especial morning the detective was nearly a block in the rear, with the snow driving furiously into his face, when an automobilesuddenly rolled up to the curb beside him and two men leaped out andpinioned Fogerty in their arms. There was no struggle, because there wasno resistance. The captors quickly tossed the detective into the car, anopen one, which again started and turned into a side street. 

Fogerty, seated securely between the two burly fellows, managed tostraighten up and rearrange his clothing. 

"Will you kindly explain this unlawful act, gentlemen?" he enquired. 

The man on the left laughed aloud. He was the same individual who hadattacked Arthur Weldon, the one who had encountered Mershone in thestreet the day before. 

"Cold day, ain't it, Fogerty?" he remarked. "But that makes it all thebetter for a little auto ride. We like you, kid, we're fond ofyou--awful fond--ain't we, Pete?"

"We surely are, " admitted the other. 

"So we thought we'd invite you out for a whirl--see? We'll give you anice ride, so you can enjoy the scenery. It's fine out Harlem way, an'the cold'll make you feel good. Eh, Pete?"

"That's the idea, " responded Pete, cheerfully. 

"Very kind of you, " said the detective, leaning back comfortably againstthe cushions and pulling up his coat collar to shield him from the wind. "But are you aware that I'm on duty, and that this will allow my man toslip away from me?"

"Can't help that; but we're awful sorry, " was the reply. "We just wantedcompany, an' you're a good fellow, Fogerty, considerin' your age an'size. "

"Thank you, " said Fogerty, "You know me, and I know you. You are BillLeesome, alias Will Dutton--usually called Big Bill. You did time acouple of years ago for knocking out a policeman. "

"I'm safe enough now, though, " responded Big Bill. "You're not workingon the reg'lar force, Fogerty, you're only a private burr. "

"I am protected, just the same, " asserted Fogerty. "When you knabbed meI was shadowing Mershone, who has made away with a prominent societyyoung lady. "

"Oh, he has, has he?" chuckled Big Bill, and his companion laughed sogleefully that he attracted Fogerty's attention to himself. 

"Ah, I suppose you are one of the two men who lugged the girl off, " heremarked; "and I must congratulate you on having made a good job of it. Isn't it curious, by the way, that the fellow who stole and hid thisgirl should be the innocent means of revealing her biding place?"

The two men stared at him blankly. The car, during this conversation, had moved steadily on, turning this and that corner in a way that mighthave confused anyone not perfectly acquainted with this section of thecity. 

"What d'ye mean by that talk, Fogerty?" demanded Big Bill. 

"Of course it was Mershone who stole the girl, " explained the detective, calmly; "we know that. But Mershone is a clever chap. He knew he waswatched, and so he has never made a movement to go to his prisoner. Buthe grew restless in time, and when he met you, yesterday, fixed up adeal with you to carry me away, so he could escape. "

Big Bill looked uncomfortable. 

"You know a lot, Fogerty, " he said, doggedly. 

"Yes; I've found that human nature is much the same the world over, "replied the detective. "Of course I suspected you would undertake togive Mershone his chance by grabbing me, and that is exactly what youhave done. But, my lads, what do you suppose I have done in themeantime?"

They both looked their curiosity but said nothing. 

"I've simply used your clever plot to my own advantage, in order tobring things to a climax, " continued Fogerty. "While we are joy-ridinghere, a half dozen of my men are watching every move that Mershonemakes. I believe he will lead them straight to the girl; don't you?"

Big Bill growled some words that were not very choice and then yelled tothe chauffeur to stop. The other man was pale and evidently frightened. 

"See here, Fogerty; you make tracks!" was the sharp command, as theautomobile came to a halt. "You've worked a pretty trick on us, 'cordin'to your own showin', and we must find Mr. Mershone before it's toolate--if we can. "

"Good morning, " said Fogerty, alighting. "Thank you for a pleasantride--and other things. "

They dashed away and left him standing on the curb; and after watchingthem disappear the detective walked over to a drug store and entered thetelephone booth. 

"That you, Hyde?--This is Fogerty. "

"Yes, sir. Mr. Mershone has just crossed the ferry to Jersey. Adams iswith him. I'll hear from him again in a minute: hold the wire. "

Fogerty waited. Soon he learned that Mershone had purchased a ticket forEast Orange. The train would leave in fifteen minutes. 

Fogerty decided quickly. After looking at his watch he rushed out andarrested a passing taxicab. 

"Ready for a quick run--perhaps a long one?" he asked. 

"Ready for anything, " declared the man. 

The detective jumped in and gave hurried directions. 

"Never mind the speed limit, " he said. "No one will interfere with us. I'm Fogerty. "

CHAPTER XIX

POLITIC REPENTANCE

Perhaps no one--not even Mrs. Merrick--was so unhappy in consequence ofthe lamentable crime that had been committed as Diana Von Taer. Immediately after her interview with Beth her mood changed, and shewould have given worlds to be free from complicity in the abduction. Bitterly, indeed, she reproached herself for her enmity toward theunsuspecting girl, an innocent victim of Diana's own vain desires andCharles Mershone's heartless wiles. Repenting her folly and reasoningout the thing when it was too late, Diana saw clearly that she hadgained no possible advantage, but had thoughtlessly conspired to ruinthe reputation of an honest, ingenuous girl. 

Not long ago she had said that her life was dull, a stupid round ofsocial functions that bored her dreadfully. She had hoped by adoptingJohn Merrick's nieces as her _protégées_ and introducing them to societyto find a novel and pleasurable excitement that would serve to take herout of her unfortunate _ennui_--a condition to which she had practicallybeen born. 

But Diana had never bargained for such excitement as this; she had neverthought to win self abhorrence by acts of petty malice and callouscruelties. Yet so intrenched was she in the conservatism of her classthat she could not at once bring herself to the point of exposing herown guilt that she might make amends for what had been done. She toldherself she would rather die than permit Louise to suffer through herconnivance with her reckless, unprincipled cousin. She realizedperfectly that she ought to fly, without a moment's delay, to the poorgirl's assistance. Yet fear of exposure, of ridicule, of loss of caste, held her a helpless prisoner in her own home, where she paced the floorand moaned and wrung her hands until she was on the verge of nervousprostration. If at any time she seemed to acquire sufficient courage togo to Louise, a glance at the detective watching the house unnerved herand prevented her from carrying out her good intentions. 

You must not believe that Diana was really bad; her lifelong trainingalong set lines and practical seclusion from the everyday world werelargely responsible for her evil impulses. Mischief is sure to crop up, in one form or another, among the idle and ambitionless. More daringwickedness is said to be accomplished by the wealthy and aimlesscreatures of our false society than by the poorer and uneducatedclasses, wherein criminals are supposed to thrive. These sins are oftenunpublished, although not always undiscovered, but they are no morevenial because they are suppressed by wealth and power. 

Diana Von Taer was a girl who, rightly led, might have been capable ofdeveloping a noble womanhood; yet the conditions of her limitedenvironment had induced her to countenance a most dastardly anddespicable act. It speaks well for the innate goodness of this girl thatshe at last actually rebelled and resolved to undo, insofar as she wasable, the wrong that had been accomplished. 

For four days she suffered tortures of remorse. On the morning of thefifth day she firmly decided to act. Regardless of who might bewatching, or of any unpleasant consequences to herself, she quietly leftthe house, unattended, and started directly for the East Orange mansion. 

CHAPTER XX

A TELEPHONE CALL

Still another laggard awoke to action on this eventful Tuesday morning. 

Madame Cerise had been growing more and more morose and dissatisfied dayby day. Her grievance was very tangible. A young girl had been broughtforcibly to the house and placed in her care to be treated as aprisoner. From that time the perpetrators of the deed had left the womanto her own resources, never communicating with her in any way. 

During a long life of servitude Madame Cerise had acquiesced in manythings that her own conscience did not approve of, for she consideredherself a mere instrument to be used at will by the people who employedand paid her. But her enforced solitude as caretaker of the lonely houseat East Orange had given her ample time to think, and her views hadlately undergone a decided change. 

To become the jailer of a young, pretty and innocent girl was the mostsevere trial her faithfulness to her employers had ever compelled her toundergo, and the woman deeply resented the doubtful position in whichshe had been placed. 

However, the chances were that Madame Cerise might have obeyed herorders to the letter had not so long a period of waiting ensued. Duringthese days she was constantly thrown in the society of Louise, which hada tendency to make her still more rebellious. The girl clung to Cerisein her helplessness and despair, and constantly implored her to set herfree. This, indeed, the Frenchwoman might have done long ago had she notsuspected such an act might cause great embarrassment to Diana Von Taer, whom she had held on her knee as an infant and sought to protect withloyal affection. 

It was hard, though, to hear the pitiful appeals of the imprisoned girl, and to realize how great was the wrong that was being done her. The oldwoman was forced to set her jaws firmly and turn deaf ears to thepleadings in order not to succumb to them straightway. Meantime she didher duty conscientiously. She never left Louise's room without turningthe key in the lock, and she steadfastly refused the girl permission towander in the other rooms of the house. The prison was a real prison, indeed, but the turnkey sought to alleviate the prisoner's misery byevery means in her power. She was indefatigable in her service, keepingthe room warm and neat, attending to the girl's every want and cookingher delicious meals. 

While this all tended to Louise's comfort it had little affect insoothing her misery. Between periods of weeping she sought to cajole theold woman to release her, and at times she succumbed to blank despair. Arthur was always in her mind, and she wondered why he did not come torescue her. Every night she stole softly from her bed to try the door, hoping Cerise had forgotten to lock it. She examined her prison bystealth to discover any possible way of escape. 

There were two small windows and one large one. The latter opened uponthe roof of a small porch, but, there were no way to descend from itunless one used a frail lattice at one end, which in summer probablysupported a rose or other vine. Louise shrank intuitively from such adesperate undertaking. Unless some dreadful crisis occurred she wouldnever dare trust herself to that frail support. Yet it seemed the onlypossible way of escape. 

Time finally wore out the patience of Madame Cerise, who was unablelonger to withstand Louise's pleadings. She did not indicate by word orlook that her attitude had changed, but she made a secret resolve tohave done with the affair altogether. 

Often in their conversations the girl had mentioned Arthur Weldon. Shehad given Cerise his address and telephone number, and implored her atleast to communicate with him and tell him his sweetheart was safe, although unhappy. This had given the old woman the clever idea on whichshe finally acted. 

By telephoning Mr. Weldon she could give him the information that wouldlead to his coming for Louise, without anyone knowing who it was thathad betrayed the secret. This method commended itself strongly to her, as it would save her from any trouble or reproach. 

Leaving Louise at breakfast on this Tuesday morning Madame Cerise wentdown to the telephone and was soon in communication with Arthur. Shetold him, in a quiet tone, that Miss Louise Merrick was being secludedin a suburban house near East Orange, and described the place so hecould easily find it. The young man questioned her eagerly, but asidefrom the information that the girl was well and uninjured shevouchsafed no further comment. 

It was enough, however. Arthur, in wild excitement, rushed to therescue. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Madame Cerise, well knowing she had accelerated the march of events to atwo-step, calmly sat herself down in the little housekeeper's room offthe lower hall and, leaving Louise to her moody solitude upstairs, awaited the inevitable developments. 

Outside the weather was cold and blustering. The wind whirled its burdenof snowflakes in every direction with blinding, bewilderingimpartiality. It was a bad day to be out, thought the old Frenchwoman;but a snowstorm was not likely to deter an anxious lover. She calculatedthe time it would take Monsieur Weldon to arrive at the mansion: if hewas prompt and energetic he could cover the distance in an hour and ahalf by train or three hours by motor car. But he must prepare for thejourney, and that would consume some time; perhaps she need not expecthim within two hours at the earliest. 

She read, to pass away the time, selecting a book from a shelf ofwell-worn French novels. Somehow she did not care to face her tearfulprisoner again until she could restore the unhappy girl to the arms ofher true lover. There was still romance in the soul of Madame Cerise, however withered her cheeks might be. She was very glad that at last shehad summoned courage to act according to the dictates of her heart. 

Eh? What is this? A rumble of wheels over the frozen snow caused her toglance at the clock above the mantel. Not by any possibility couldMonsieur Weldon arrive so soon. Who, then, could it be?

She sat motionless while the doorbell rang, and rang again. Nothing mustinterfere with the pretty _denouement_ she had so fondly anticipatedwhen Louise's faithful knight came to her. 

But the one who had just now alighted was persistent. The vehicle hadbeen sent away--she heard the sound of receding wheels--and the newarrival wanted to get in. The bell jerked and jangled unceasingly for atime and then came a crash against the door, as if a stalwart shoulderwas endeavoring to break it down. 

Madame Cerise laid down her book, placed her _pince-nez_ in the case, and slowly proceeded down the hall. The door shook with another powerfulimpact, a voice cried out demanding admittance. 

"Who is it, then?" she called shrilly. 

"Open the door, confound you!" was the irritated reply. 

The woman reflected. This was surely young Mershone's voice. And she hadno excuse to deny him admittance. Quietly she unbolted the door andallowed it to open an inch while she peered at the man outside. 

"Oh! it is Monsieur Mershone. "

"Of course it is, " he roared, forcing the door open and stalking in. "Who in thunder did you think it was?"

"A thousand pardons, m'sieur, " said Cerise. "I must be cautious; it isyour own command. That you may be protected I deny admittance to all. "

"That's all right, " said Mershone gruffly, while he stamped his feetupon the rug and shook the snow from his clothing. "Haven't you any firein this beastly old refrigerator? I'm nearly frozen. Where's MissMerrick?"

"She is occupying Ma'm'selle Diana's room, in the west wing. Willmonsieur please to come this way?"

She led him to her own little room, and so engrossed were they thatneither remembered he had failed to rebolt the front door. 

A good fire burned in the grate of Cerise's cosy den and Mershone threwoff his overcoat and warmed his hands as he showered questions upon theold caretaker. 

"How is the girl behaving? Tears and hysterics?"

"At times, m'sieur. "

"Takes it hard, eh?"

"She is very unhappy. "

"Ever mention a man named Weldon?"

"Often. "

"Humph!" He did not like this report. "Has anyone been here to disturbyou, or to make enquiries?"

"No one, m'sieur. "

"We're safe enough, I guess. It was a mighty neat job, Cerise, takenaltogether, although the fools have been watching me night and day. That's the reason I did not come sooner. "

She made no comment. Mershone threw himself into a chair and staredthoughtfully at the fire. 

"Has Louise--Miss Merrick, you know--mentioned my name at all?" "Attimes. "

"In what way?"

"With loathing and contempt. "

He scowled at her savagely. 

"Do you think she suspects that I carried her away?"

"She seems to know it absolutely. "

He stared at the fire again. 

"I've got a queer job on my hands, Cerise, and I rely on you to helpme, " said he presently, assuming a more conciliating manner. "PerhapsI'm in a box, or a hole, or whatever else you like to call it, but it'stoo late too back down now--I must push ahead and win. You see the caseis this: I love the girl and had her brought here to keep her fromanother man. By hook or crook I'm going to make her my wife. She won'ttake kindly to that at first, perhaps, but I'll make her happy in theend. In one way this delay has been a good thing. It must have worn herout and broken her spirits quite a bit; eh?"

"She seems very miserable, " conceded the woman. 

"Do you find her hard to manage? Does she show much temper? In otherwords, do you suppose she'll put up a fight?"

Madame Cerise regarded him wonderingly. 

"She is a good girl, " was her reply. "She loves with much devotion theman from whom you have stolen her. I am quite positive she will neverconsent to become your wife. "

"Oh, you are? Well, I intend she shall marry me, and that settles it. She's unnerved and miserable now, and I mean to grind her down till shehasn't strength to resist me. That sounds hard. I know; but it's theonly way to accomplish my purpose. After she's my wife I'll be very kindto her, poor thing, and teach her to love me. A man can do anything witha woman if he sets about it the right way. I'm not taking this standbecause I'm cruel, Cerise, but because I'm desperate. All's fair in loveand war, you know, and this is a bit of both. "

He was pacing the floor by this time, his hands thrust deep in hispockets, an anxious look upon his face that belied his bombastic words. 

The Frenchwoman's expression was impassive. Her scorn for the wretchbefore her was tempered with the knowledge that his cowardly plan wasdoomed to defeat. It was she who had checkmated him, and she was glad. Now and again her eyes sought the clock, while she silently calculatedthe time to elapse before Arthur Weldon arrived. There would be a prettyscene then, Cerise would have much enjoyment in witnessing theencounter. 

"Now, then, take me to Louise, " commanded Mershone, suddenly. 

She shrank back in dismay. 

"Oh, not yet, m'sieur!"

"Why not?"

"The young lady is asleep. She will not waken for an hour--perhaps two. "

"I can't wait. We'll waken her now, and give her an idea of the changeof program. "

"But no, m'sieur! It is outrageous. The poor thing has but now sobbedherself to sleep, after many bitter hours. Can you not wait a briefhour, having waited five days?"

"No. Take me to her at once. " As he came toward her the woman drewaway. 

"I cannot, " she said firmly. 

"See here, Cerise, I intend to be obeyed. I won't endure any nonsense atthis stage of the game, believe me, " he announced fiercely. "In order towin, there's just one way to manage this affair, and I insist upon yourfollowing my instructions. Take me to Louise!"

"I will not!" she returned, the bead-like eyes glittering as they methis angry gaze. 

"Then I'll go alone. Give me the key. "

She did not move, nor did she answer him. At her waist hung a smallbunch of household keys and this he seized with a sudden movement andjerked loose from its cord. 

"You miserable hag!" he muttered, inflamed with anger at her opposition. "If you propose to defend this girl and defy me, you'll find I'm able tocrush you as I will her. While I'm gone I expect you to come to yoursenses, and decide to obey me. "

With these words he advanced to the door of the little room and openedit. Just outside stood Fogerty, smiling genially. 

"Glad to meet you again, Mr. Mershone, " he said. "May I come in? Thankyou. "

While Mershone stood bewildered by this unexpected apparition thedetective entered the room, closed the door carefully, and putting hisback to it bowed politely to Madame Cerise. 

"Pardon this seeming intrusion, ma'am, " said he. "I'm here on a littlematter of business, having a warrant for the arrest of Mr. CharlesConnoldy Mershone. "

CHAPTER XXII

GONE

The grim face of Madame Cerise relaxed to allow a quaint smile to flitacross it. She returned Fogerty's bow with a deep curtsy. 

Mershone, after one brief exclamation of dismay, wrested from him bysurprise, threw himself into the chair again and stared at the fire. For a few moments there was intense stillness in the little room. 

"How easy it is, " said Fogerty, in soft, musing tones, "to read one'sthoughts--under certain circumstances. You are thinking, Mr. Mershone, that I'm a boy, and not very strong, while you are an athlete and caneasily overpower me. I have come at a disagreeable time, and all yourplans depend on your ability to get rid of me. But I've four good menwithin call, who are just now guarding the approaches to this house. They'd like to come in, I know, because it's very cold and disagreeableoutside; but suppose we allow them to freeze for a time? Ah, I thoughtyou'd agree with me, sir--I overheard you say you were about to visitMiss Merrick, who is confined in a room upstairs, but I'd like you topostpone that while we indulge in a little confidential chat together. You see--"

The door-bell rang violently. Fogerty glanced at Madame Cerise. "Willyou see who it is?" he asked. 

She arose at once and left the room. Mershone turned quickly. 

"What's your price, Fogerty?" he asked, meaningly. 

"For what?"

"For getting out of here--making tracks and leaving me alone. Every manhas his price, and I'm trapped--I'm willing to pay anything--I'll--"

"Cut it out, sir. You've tried this once before. I'm not to be bribed. "

"Have you really a warrant for my arrest?"

"I've carried it since Friday. It's no use, Mershone, the game's up andyou may as well grin and bear it. "

Mershone was about to reply when the door opened and Diana Von Taer camein with a swift, catlike tread and confronted him with flaming eyes. 

"You coward! You low, miserable scoundrel! How dare you come here toannoy and browbeat that poor girl?" she cried in clear, cutting accents, without noticing the presence of Fogerty. 

"Oh, shut up, Di, you're in it as deep as I am, " he retorted, turningaway with a flushed face. 

"I'm not, sir! Never have I countenanced this wicked, criminal act, " shedeclared. "I have come here to-day to save Louise from your wiles andcarry her back to her friends. I dare you, or your confederates, " with ascornful look at the detective, "to interfere with me in any way. " Thenshe turned to Cerise and continued: "Where is Miss Merrick now?"

"In your own room, ma'm'seile. "

"Come with me, then. "

With a defiant glance at Mershone she turned haughtily and left theroom. Cerise followed obediently, somewhat astonished at the queer turnof events. 

Left alone with Mershone, Fogerty chuckled gleefully. 

"Why, it seems I wasn't needed, after all, " said he, "and we've both ofus taken a lot of trouble for nothing, Mershone. The chances are MissVon Taer would have turned the trick in any event, don't you think so?" "No, you don't understand her. She wouldn't have interfered if shehadn't been scared out, " growled the other. "She's sacrificed me to saveherself, that's all. "

"You may be right about that, " admitted Fogerty; and then he got up toanswer the door-bell, which once more rang violently. 

An automobile stood outside, and from it an excited party trooped intothe hallway, disregarding the cutting wind and blinding snowflakes thatassailed them as they passed in. There was Arthur Weldon and Uncle John, Patricia and Beth; and all, as they saw the detective, cried with onevoice:

"Where's Louise?"

Fogerty had just managed to close the door against the wintry blast whenthe answer came from the stairway just above:

"She is gone!"

The voice was shrill and despairing, and looking up they saw Dianastanding dramatically posed upon the landing, her hands clasped over herheart and a look of fear upon her face. Over her shoulder the startledblack eyes of old Cerise peered down upon the group below. 

The newcomers were evidently bewildered by this reception. They had cometo rescue Louise, whom they imagined confined in a lonely deserted villawith no companion other than the woman who guarded her. Arthur's owndetective opened the door to them and Diana Von Taer, whom theycertainly did not expect to meet here, confronted them with thethrilling statement that Louise had gone. 

Arthur was the first to recover his wits. 

"Gone!" he repeated; "gone where?"

"She had escaped--run away!" explained Diana, in real distress. 

"When?" asked Uncle John. 

"Just now. Within an hour, wasn't it, Cerise?"

"At ten o'clock I left her, now she is gone, " said the old woman, whoappeared as greatly agitated as her mistress. 

"Good gracious! you don't mean to say she's left the house in thisstorm?" exclaimed Patsy, aghast at the very thought. 

"What shall we do? What _can_ we do?" demanded Beth, eagerly. 

Fogerty started up the stairs. Cerise turned to show him the way, andthe others followed in an awed group. 

The key was in the lock of the door to the missing girl's room, but thedoor itself now stood ajar. Fogerty entered, cast a sharp look aroundand walked straight to the window. As the others came in, glancingcuriously about them and noting the still smouldering fire and theevidences of recent occupation, the detective unlatched the Frenchwindow and stepped out into the snow that covered the roof of the littleporch below. Arthur sprang out beside him, leaving the rest to shiver inthe cold blast that rushed in upon them from the open window. 

Fogerty, on his knees, scanned the snow carefully, and although Weldoncould discover no sign of a footprint the young detective nodded hishead sagaciously and slowly made his way to the trellis at the end. Hereit was plain that the accumulation of snow had recently been brushedaway from the frail framework. "It was strong enough to hold her, though, " declared Fogerty, looking over the edge of the roof. "I'lldescend the same way, sir. Go back by the stairs and meet me below. "

He grasped the lattice and began cautiously to lower himself to theground, and Arthur turned to rejoin his friends in the room. 

"That is the way she escaped, without doubt, " he said to them. "Poorchild, she had no idea we were about to rescue her, and her longconfinement had made her desperate. "

"Did she have a cloak, or any warm clothes?" asked Beth. Madame Cerisehurriedly examined the wardrobe in the closets. 

"Yes, ma'm'selle; she has taken a thick coat and a knit scarf, " sheanswered. But I am sure she had no gloves, and her shoes were verythin. "

"How long do you think she has been gone?" Patsy enquired. 

"Not more than an hour. I was talking with Mr. Mershone, and--"

"Mershone! Is he here?" demanded Arthur. 

"He is in my room downstairs--or was when you came, " said the woman. 

"That accounts for her sudden flight, " declared the young man, bitterly. "She doubtless heard his voice and in a sudden panic decided to fly. DidMershone see her?" he asked. 

"No, m'sieur, " replied Cerise. 

With one accord they descended to the lower hall and the caretaker ledthe way to her room. To their surprise they found Mershone still seatedin the chair by the fire, his hands clasped behind his head, a cigarettebetween his lips. 

"Here is another crime for you to account for!" cried Arthur, advancingupon him angrily. "You have driven Louise to her death!"

Mershone raised one hand in mild protest. 

"Don't waste time cursing me, " he said. "Try to find Louise before it istoo late. "

The reproach seemed justified. Arthur paused and turning to Mr. Merricksaid:

"He is right. I'll go help Fogerty, and you must stay here and lookafter the girls until we return. " As he went out he passed Dianawithout a look. She sat in a corner of the room sobbing miserably. Bethwas thoughtful and quiet, Patsy nervous and indignant. Uncle John wasapparently crushed by the disaster that had overtaken them. Mershone'ssuggestion that Louise might perish in the storm was no idle one; thegirl was not only frail and delicate but worn out with her longimprisonment and its anxieties. They all realized this. 

"I believe, " said Mershone, rising abruptly, "I'll go and join thesearch. Fogerty has arrested me, but you needn't worry about my tryingto escape. I don't care what becomes of me, now, and I'm going straightto join the detective. "

They allowed him to go without protest, and he buttoned his coat and setout in the storm to find the others. Fogerty and Arthur were by thistime in the lane back of the grounds, where the detective was advancingslowly with his eyes fixed on the ground. 

"The tracks are faint, but easily followed, " he was saying, "The highheels of her shoes leave a distinct mark. "

When Mershone joined them Arthur scowled at the fellow but said nothing. Fogerty merely smiled. 

From the lane the tracks, already nearly obliterated by the fast fallingsnow, wandered along nearly a quarter of a mile to a crossroads, wherethey became wholly lost. 

Fogerty looked up and down the roads and shook his head with a puzzledexpression. 

"We've surely traced her so far, " said he, "but now we must guess at herfurther direction. You'll notice this track of a wagon. It may havepassed fifteen minutes or an hour ago. The hoof tracks of the horses arecovered, so I'm not positive which way they headed; I only know thereare indications of hoof tracks, which proves it a farmer's wagon. Thequestion is, whether the young lady met it, and caught a ride, orwhether she proceeded along some of the other trails. I can't find anyindication of those high-heeled shoes from this point, in any direction. Better get your car, Mr. Weldon, and run east a few miles, keeping sharpwatch of the wagon tracks on the way. It was a heavy wagon, for thewheels cut deep. Mershone and I will go west. When you've driven farenough to satisfy yourself you're going the wrong direction, you mayeasily overtake us on your return. Then, if we've discovered nothing onthis road, we'll try the other. " Arthur ran back at once to the houseand in a few minutes had started on his quest. The motor car waspowerful enough to plow through the deep snow with comparative ease. 

Those left together in Madam Cerise's little room were more to be pitiedthan the ones engaged in active search, for there was nothing to relievetheir fears and anxieties. Diana, unable to bear the accusing looks ofPatsy and Beth, resolved to make a clean breast of her complicity in theaffair and related to them every detail of her connection with hercousin's despicable plot. She ended by begging their forgiveness, andwept so miserably that Uncle John found himself stroking her hair whilePatsy came close and pressed the penitent girl's hand as if to comfortand reassure her. 

Beth said nothing. She could not find it in her heart as yet to forgiveDiana's selfish conspiracy against her cousin's happiness. If Louiseperished in this dreadful storm the proud Diana Von Taer could notescape the taint of murder. The end was not yet. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE CRISIS

Mershone and Fogerty plodded through the snow together, side by side. They were facing the wind, which cut their faces cruelly, yet neitherseemed to mind the bitterness of the weather. "Keep watch along theroadside, " suggested Mershone; "she may have fallen anywhere, you know. She couldn't endure this thing long. Poor Louise!"

"You were fond of her, Mr. Mershone?" asked Fogerty, notunsympathetically. 

"Yes. That was why I made such a struggle to get her. "

"It was a mistake, sir. Provided a woman is won by force or trickeryshe's never worth getting. If she doesn't care for you it's better togive her up. "

"I know--now. "

"You're a bright fellow, Mershone, a clever fellow. It's a pity youcouldn't direct your talents the right way. They'll jug you for this. "

"Never mind. The game of life isn't worth playing. I've done with it, and the sooner I go to the devil the better. If only I could be sureLouise was safe I'd toss every care--and every honest thought--to thewinds, from this moment. "

During the silence that followed Fogerty was thoughtful. Indeed, hismind dwelt more upon the defeated and desperate man beside him than uponthe waif he was searching for. 

"What's been done, Mr. Mershone, " he said, after a time, "can't behelped now. The future of every man is always a bigger proposition thanhis past--whoever he may be. With your talents and genius you could yetmake of yourself a successful and prosperous man, respected by thecommunity--if you could get out of this miserable rut that has helpedto drag you down. "

"But I can't, " said the other, despondently. 

"You can if you try. But you'll have to strike for a place a good wayfrom New York. Go West, forget your past, and carve out an honest futureunder a new name and among new associates. You're equal to it. "

Mershone shook his head. 

"You forget, " he said. "They'll give me a jail sentence for this folly, as sure as fate, and that will be the end of me. "

"Not necessarily. See here, Mershone, it won't help any of those peopleto prosecute you. If the girl escapes with her life no real harm hasbeen done, although you've caused a deal of unhappiness, in one way oranother. For my part, I'd like to see you escape, because I'm sure thisaffair will be a warning to you that will induce you to give up alltrickery in the future. Money wouldn't bribe me, as you know, butsympathy and good fellowship will. If you'll promise to skip right now, and turn over a new leaf, you are free. "

"Where could I go?"

"There's a town a mile ahead of us; I can see the buildings now andthen. You've money, for you offered it to me. I haven't any assistantshere, I'm all alone on the job. That talk about four men was only abluff. Push me over in the snow and make tracks. I'll tell Weldon you'veescaped, and advise him not to bother you. It's very easy. "

Mershone stopped short, seized the detective's hand and wrung itgratefully. 

"You're a good fellow, Fogerty. I--I thank you. But I can't do it. Inthe first place, I can't rest in peace until Louise is found, or I knowher fate. Secondly, I'm game to give an account for all my deeds, nowthat I've played the farce out, and lost. I--I really haven't theambition, Fogerty, to make a new start in life, and try to reform. What's the use?"

Fogerty did not reply. Perhaps he realized the case was entirelyhopeless. But he had done what he could to save the misguided fellow andgive him a chance, and he was sorry he had not succeeded. 

Meantime Arthur Weldon, almost dazed by the calamity that had overtakenhis sweetheart, found an able assistant in his chauffeur, who, when thecase was explained to him, developed an eager and intelligent interestin the chase. Fortunately they moved with the storm and the snowpresently moderated in volume although the wind was still blowing afierce gale. This gave them a better opportunity than the others toobserve the road they followed. 

Jones had good eyes, and although the trail of the heavy wagon was lostat times he soon picked it up again and they were enabled to make fairlygood speed. 

"I believe, " said Arthur, presently, "that the marks are gettingclearer. "

"I know they are, sir, " agreed Jones. 

"Then we've come in the right direction, for it is proof that the wagonwas headed this way. "

"Quite right, sir. "

This back section was thinly settled and the occasional farm-houses theypassed were set well back from the road. It was evident from the closedgates and drifted snowbanks that no teams had either left these placesor arrived during a recent period. Arthur was encouraged, moreover, bythe wagon ruts growing still more clear as they proceeded, and hisexcitement was great when Jones abruptly halted and pointed to a placewhere the wheels had made a turn and entered a farm yard. 

"Here's the place, sir, " announced the chauffeur. 

"Can you get in?"

"It's pretty deep, sir, but I'll try. "

The snow was crisp and light, owing to the excessive cold, and themachine plowed through it bravely, drawing up at last to the door of anhumble cottage. 

As Arthur leaped out of the car a man appeared upon the steps, closingthe door softly behind him. 

"Looking for the young lady, sir?" he asked. 

"Is she here?" cried Arthur. 

The man placed his finger on his lips, although the wind prevented anysound of voices being heard within. 

"Gently, sir, don't make a noise--but come in. "

They entered what seemed to be a kitchen. The farmer, a man of advancedyears, led him to a front room, and again cautioning him to be silent, motioned him to enter. 

A sheet-iron stove made the place fairly comfortable. By a window sat ameek-faced woman, bent over some sewing. On a couch opposite lay Louise, covered by a heavy shawl. She was fast asleep, her hair disheveled andstraying over her crimson cheeks, flushed from exposure to the weather. Her slumber seemed the result of physical exhaustion, for her lips wereparted and she breathed deeply. 

Arthur, after gazing at her for a moment with a beating-heart, for themysterious actions of the old farmer had made him fear the worst, softlyapproached the couch and knelt beside the girl he loved, thanking; Godin his inmost heart for her escape. Then he leaned over and pressed akiss upon her cheek. 

Louise slowly opened her eyes, smiled divinely, and threw her armsimpulsively around his neck. 

"I knew you would come for me, dear, " she whispered. 

CHAPTER XXIV

A MATTER OF COURSE

All explanations were barred until the girl had been tenderly taken toher own home and under the loving care of her mother and cousins hadrecovered to an extent from the terrible experiences she had undergone. Then by degrees she told them her story, and how, hearing the voice ofher persecutor Mershone in the hall below she had become frantic withfear and resolved to trust herself to the mercies of the storm ratherthan submit to an interview with him. Before this she had decided thatshe could climb down the trellis, and that part of her flight sheaccomplished easily. Then she ran toward the rear of the premises toavoid being seen and managed to find the lane, and later thecross-roads. It was very cold, but her excitement and the fear ofpursuit kept her warm until suddenly her strength failed her and shesank down in the snow without power to move. At this juncture the farmerand his wife drove by, having been on a trip to the town. The man sprangout and lifted her in, and the woman tenderly wrapped her in the robesand blankets and pillowed her head upon her motherly bosom. By the timethey reached the farm-house she was quite warm again, but so exhaustedthat with a brief explanation that she was lost, but somebody would besure to find her before long, she fell upon the couch and almostimmediately lost consciousness. 

So Arthur found her, and one look into his eyes assured her that all hertroubles were over. 

They did not prosecute Charlie Mershone, after all. Fogerty pleaded forhim earnestly, and Uncle John pointed out that to arrest the young manwould mean to give the whole affair to the newspapers, which until nowhad not gleaned the slightest inkling of what had happened. Publicitywas to be avoided if possible, as it would set loose a thousandmalicious tongues and benefit nobody. The only thing to be gained byprosecuting Mershone was revenge, and all were willing to forego thatdoubtful satisfaction. 

However, Uncle John had an interview with the young man in the office ofthe prosecuting attorney, at which Mershone was given permission toleave town quietly and pursue his fortunes in other fields. If ever hereturned, or in any way molested any of the Merricks or his cousinDiana, he was assured that he would be immediately arrested andprosecuted to the full extent of the law. 

Mershone accepted the conditions and became an exile, passing at onceout of the lives of those he had so deeply wronged. 

The joyful reunion of the lovers led to an early date being set for thewedding. They met all protests by pleading their fears of anotherheartrending separation, and no one ventured to oppose their desire. 

Mrs. Merrick quickly recovered her accustomed spirits during theexcitement of those anxious weeks preceding the wedding. Cards wereissued to "the very best people in town;" the _trousseau_ involvedanxiety by day and restless dreams by night--all eminently enjoyable;there were entertainments to be attended and congratulations to bereceived from every side. 

Society, suspecting nothing of the tragedy so lately enacted in theseyoung lives, was especially gracious to the betrothed. Louise was therecipient of innumerable merry "showers" from her girl associates, andher cousins, Patsy and Beth, followed in line with "glass showers" and"china showers" until the prospective bride was stocked with enoughwares to establish a "house-furnishing emporium, " as Uncle John proudlydeclared. 

Mr. Merrick, by this time quite reconciled and palpably pleased at theapproaching marriage of his eldest niece, was not to be outdone in"social stunts" that might add to her happiness. He gave theatre partiesand banquets without number, and gave them with the marked success thatinvariably attended his efforts. 

The evening before the wedding Uncle John and the Major claimed Arthurfor their own, and after an hour's conference between the three thatleft the young fellow more happy and grateful than ever before, he wasentertained at his last "bachelor dinner, " where he made a remarkablespeech and was lustily cheered. 

Of course Beth and Patsy were the bridesmaids, and their cousin KennethForbes came all the way from Elmhurst to be Arthur's best man. No oneever knew what it cost Uncle John for the wonderful decorations at thechurch and home, for the music, the banquet and all the other detailswhich he himself eagerly arranged on a magnificent scale and claimed wasa part of his "wedding present. "

When it was all over, and the young people had driven away to begin thejourney of life together, the little man put a loving arm around Bethand Patsy and said, between smiles and tears:

"Well, my dears, I've lost one niece, and that's a fact; but I've stilltwo left. How long will they remain with me, I wonder?"

"Dear me, Uncle John, " said practical Patsy; "your necktie's untied anddangling; like a shoestring! I hope it wasn't that way at the wedding. "

"It was, though, " declared the Major, chuckling. "If all three of ye getmarried, my dears, poor Uncle John will come to look like a scarecrow--and all that in the face of swell society!"

"Aren't we about through with swell society now?" asked Mr. Merrick, anxiously. "Aren't we about done with it? It caused all our troubles, you know. "

"Society, " announced Beth, complacently, "is an excellent thing in theabstract. It has its black sheep, of course; but I think no more thanany other established class of humanity. "

"Dear me!" cried Uncle John; "you once denounced society. "

"That, " said she, "was before I knew anything at all about it. "