LADY LARKSPURBYMEREDITH NICHOLSON

NEW YORKCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS1919

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COPYRIGHT, 1919, BYCHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

Published March, 1919

COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY P. F. COLLIER & SONS, INC. 

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TO BENNETT AND PEGGY GATES

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

 I. THE "TROOPS" 1 II. THE AMAZING WIDOW 38 III. A FAN 79 IV. PURSUING KNIGHTS 112 V. ALICE 138

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CHAPTER I

THE "TROOPS"

"It was hard luck, " said Searles, "that I should spend a year writing aplay for a woman only to find that she had vanished--jumped off theearth into nowhere. This was my highest flight, Singleton, the bestwriting I ever did, and after the vast pains I took with the thing, theonly woman I ever saw who could possibly act it is unavailable; worsethan that, absolutely undiscoverable! Nobody knows I have this script;I've kept quiet about it simply because I'm not going to be forced intoaccepting a star I don't want. I have a feeling about this play that Inever had about my other things. That girl was its inspiration. Thepublic has been so kind to my small offerings that I'm trying to lead'em on to the best I can do; something a little finer and moreimaginative, with a touch of poetry, if you please. And now----"

He rose from his broad work-table (he scorned the familiar type of desk)and glared at me as though I were responsible for his troubles. As heknew I had been flying in the French Aviation Corps for two years andhad just been invalided home, I didn't think it necessary to establishan alibi. But I hastened to express my sympathy for his predicament. Fate had been kind to Dick Searles. In college he had written a play ortwo that demonstrated his talent, and after a rigid apprenticeship asscene-shifter and assistant producer he had made a killing with "LetGeorge Do It, " a farce that earned enough to put him at ease and makepossible an upward step into straight comedy. Even as we talked acapacity house was laughing at his skit, "Who Killed Cock Robin?" justaround the corner from his lodgings. So his story was not the inventionof a rejected playwright to cover the non-appearance of a play whichnobody would produce. 

"Isn't it always a mistake to write a play for a particular star?" Isuggested. "Seems to me I've read somewhere that that is among thebesetting sins of you playwrights. "

"Old stuff, my boy; but this isn't one of those cases. The person I hadin mind for this play wasn't a star, but a beginner, quite unknown. Itwas when I was in London putting on 'Fairy Gold' that I saw her; she hada small part in a pantomime, and pantomime is the severest test of anactor's powers, you know. A little later she appeared in 'HonourableWomen, ' a capital play that died early, but there again I felt herpeculiar charm--it was just that. Her part was a minor one, but she woreit as she might wear a glove; she was exquisite! No one ever captured myimagination as she did. I watched her night after night. I was afraidthat when I heard her voice it would break the spell, and I actuallyshook like a man with an ague when she tripped out on the stage as theingénue in 'Honourable Women. ' And her laughter! You know how hollow theusual stage mirth is, but that girl's laugh had the joy of the larkascending!"

"By Jove!" I ejaculated, "there's more here than appears. You're in lovewith the girl!"

"Rubbish, " he cried impatiently. "You'll think I'm talking rot, butthis girl was the visualization of a character I had dreamed of andgroped after for years. That's all; but it's a whole lot, I can tellyou!"

"Of course, you established lines of communication and gave her a hintthat you meant to write a play for her?"

"Certainly not! That would have spoiled the whole thing. It was her art, not the woman, that interested me. I didn't want to take the chance ofbeing disillusioned. I have been through that experience, and I prefernot to meet the people who act in my pieces. I want their art, not theirviews on human destiny or the best place to get lobster à la Newburg. "

"Let us be practical for a moment, Searles, " I urged. "Emperors, presidents, and popular murderers are not more conspicuous than thepeople of the stage. No girl talented enough to get two engagements, even for small parts, in a first-class London theatre could vanish. Withyour acquaintance in the profession you'd be able to trace her anywhereon earth. By the way, what did the paragon call herself?"

"Violet Dewing was her stage name and the only name the managers knewher by. I assumed that, of course, all I had to do was to finish my playand then have Dalton, who represents me over there, make an appointmentto read it to her; but Dalton worked for three months trying to findher, without success. She clearly wasn't the product of the provincialtheatres--hadn't any of the marks. I wasn't the only person who wasinterested in her. Dalton said half a dozen managers had their eye onher, but after 'Honourable Women' closed she stepped into the void. Iknow what you're thinking--that the other members of the two companiesshe appeared with must have had some inkling of her identity, but I tellyou Dalton and I exhausted the possibilities. It was by accident thatshe got her chance in the pantomime--some one wouldn't do at the lastminute, and they gave Miss Dewing a trial. She was well liked by herassociates in spite of the fact that she was a bit offish and vanishedfrom their world the minute the curtain fell. "

"A clever governess out of a job, satisfying a craving for excitementand playing the mysterious rôle as part of the adventure. Am I toassume that you've burned your play and that the incident is closed?"

"Oh, I didn't burn it; I have a copy locked in a safety vault, andDalton left one heavily sealed at a small exclusive London hotel where, he found after much difficulty, the girl had lodged during her twoengagements. "

"You're morbid, " I said. "Show me her photograph. "

He laughed ironically. "Never a chance, Singleton! You haven't yet gotthe idea that this young woman is out of the ordinary. She refused to bephotographed--wrote it into her two contracts that this was not to beasked. I never saw her off the stage, and I can't give you a descriptionof her that would be of the slightest assistance to the keenestdetective alive. As I've tried to convey to your practical mind, it'sthe spirit of the girl--the spirit of comedy, that I've dramatized--nota girl you take out to supper only to find that she has no wit, nocharm, no anything but a monstrous appetite for indigestible food and asilly ambition to play rôles the gods never intended her to play. Inthat pantomime she was a frolic, the clown's daughter, and, thoughnobody saw it, she was the whole piece, the elusive sprite that couldevoke laughter and tears by a gesture, a lifting of the brows, agrimace. By utterly different methods in 'Honourable Women' she provedher wide range of appeal. The chap who produced 'Honourable Women' toldme that after the first rehearsal Bayley, the author, begged him forGod's sake to let the girl do it her own way, so as not to lose herfreshness and spontaneity. Hers was the one true characterization in thepiece. When Terry was in her prime you remember how we used to say thatonly one bird sang like that, and from paradise it flew? Well, this birdsings on the same branch! Her voice was her charm made audible! She'sthe most natural being I ever saw on the stage, and she can _look_ morecomedy than anybody else I ever saw act!"

"Rave some more!" I pleaded. "You never talked better in your life. "

"Don't be an ass, " he said sourly. "Let's forget her and take a squintat your affairs. Just what do you mean to do with yourself?"

"My shoulder still creaks a little, and the doctors advise me to sitaround for a while. They offered me some jobs in Washington, but deskwork and inspection duty are too tame after a couple of years spent instar climbing. The doctors tell me to cultivate repose for a few monthsand maybe they'll pass me into our flying corps, but they don't promiseanything. I'm going up to Barton-on-the-Sound and I'll camp in thegarage on my uncle's place. You remember that I built the thing myself, and the quarters are good enough for a busted veteran. "

"Your uncle played you a nasty trick, " interrupted Searles; "gettingmarried and then adding to the crime by dying. You couldn't beat thatfor general spitefulness. "

"Do you remember the immortal lines:

 "'Oh, skip your dear uncle!' The Bellman exclaimed As he angrily tingled his bell"?

"Oh, I'm not knocking the dead!" he protested. "Mr. Bashford alwaysstruck me as a pretty decent, square sort of chap, and not at all thefamiliar grouchy uncle of fiction and the drama. I made notes on himfrom time to time with a view to building a play around him--the perfectuncle, unobtrusive, never blustering at his nephew; translating theavuncular relationship into something remote and chaste like a distantview of Mount Washington in winter. As I recall, there were only twogreat passions in your uncle's life--Japanese art and green-turtle soup. It was just like him to retire from business on his sixtieth birthdayand depart for the Orient, there to commit the shameless indiscretion ofmatrimony. "

"Like him! It was the greatest shock of my life. To the best of myknowledge he never knew any women except the widow of his partner in theimporting house. He used to dine with her now and then, and I caught himonce sending her flowers at Easter--probably an annual stunt. She wasabout eighty and perfectly safe. He spent twenty years in the Tyringham, the dullest and most respectable hotel in the world, and his chiefrecreation was a leisurely walk in the park before going to bed. Youcould set your clock by him. Pretty thin picking for a dramatist, Ishould think. He used to take me to the theatre regularly every otherThursday--it was a date--and his favorite entertainment was vaudevillewith black-face embellishment preferred. You should add that to Japanesepottery and potage à la tortue. He joined the yacht club just becausethe green turtle at that joint is the best in New York. Yachts! He neversailed in anything but the biggest steamers, and got no fun out of that. I crossed with him twice, and he never left his bunk. But in his shyfashion he was kind and generous and mighty good to me. "

"If you hadn't gone to war, but had kept right at his elbow, themarriage might have been averted, " suggested Searles. "He did leave yousomething, didn't he?"

"Fifty thousand cash and the right to use the garage at the Barton farm. Calling it a farm is a joke; it's rocks mostly. He bought the house tohave a place to store his prints and ceramics. He hated motoring exceptin taxis up and down town, and when I urged him to set up a machine, hetold me to go ahead and buy one and build the garage. He rather sniffedat the writing I do, but told me I'd better fix up a studio in thegarage and have it as a place to work in. His will provides that I maylodge in the garage for life. "

"The estate footed a million, as I remember, so I can't praise hisgenerosity. But the widow, your unknown auntie, the body-snatcher whoannexed the old boy--what of her?"

"I've asked the trust company people whether she's in sight anywhere, and they assure me that she is not on these shores. Torrence, the thirdvice-president--you know Torry; he was in the class ahead of us atcollege, the man who never smiles--Torry seemed anxious to learn abouther from me, which is certainly droll. He said she acknowledged her lastremittance three months ago from Bangkok--wherever that is. Torrycouldn't see that Bangkok is so absurdly remote that the idea of awidow's strolling off there is funny. I suppose the old girl's resumedher tour of the world looking for another retired merchant to add to herlist. "

"Very likely. To what nation, tribe, or human group does this predatoryperson belong?"

"I'll tell you all I know. Just as I was sailing for France I got aletter from Uncle Bash stating in the most businesslike fashion that hewas about to be married to a lady he had met on his trip out to Japan. The dire event was to occur at the American Embassy the following day. From which I judged that my presence at the ceremony was neitherexpected nor desired. Oddly enough, months afterward, I picked up anEnglish paper in a French inn that contained an announcement of themarriage in the usual advertisement form. The lady was succinctlydescribed as Mrs. Alice Wellington Cornford, widow of the late ArchibaldReynolds Cornford, Pepperharrow Road, Hants. All Torrence knows of thesubsequent proceedings is what he got in official reports of UncleBash's death from the consul-general at Tokyo. He was buried over thereand the life-insurance companies were rather fussy about the legalproof, Torry says. Whether the widow expects to come to Americaultimately or will keep moving through the Orient marrying husbands andburying them is a dark mystery. If she should turn up, the house atBarton is hers, of course, but with her roving disposition I fancy myaunt Alice wouldn't like the place. The Jap stuff is worth a bit ofmoney, and if the lady is keen for such things and not a mereadventuress she may take it into her head one of these days to come overand inspect the loot. "

"I can see the vampire, " said Searles musingly, "landing at the GrandCentral with enough hand-luggage to fill a freight-car; a big, raw-bonedcreature, with a horse face and a horrible mess as to clothes. You willbe there to meet her, deferential, anxious to please. You will pilot herup the coast to Barton, tip the servants heavily to keep them frommurdering her, and twiddle your thumbs in your garage as you await herfurther pleasure. By the way, are those ancient freaks still on theplace--those broken-down hotel employees who were your uncle's soleexperiment in philanthropy?"

"Torrence assures me that they are all very much there. "

Searles yielded himself to laughter. "An Englishwoman with lofty ideasof domestic service would certainly enjoy a romp with that crew. Isupposed the trust company had brushed them into the Sound before this. "

"Oh, they are in the same class with me, " I explained. "The place can'tbe sold till I die, and while I live they're to be harbored--aboutthirty of them--clothed and victualled. "

"I think there's a farce in the idea, and I may try it one of thesedays, " he said, scribbling in his note-book. "A refuge for broken-downchambermaids, venerable bell-hops grown gray in the service, and thehead waiter who amassed a fortune in tips and then toyed with the marketonce too often and lost his ill-gotten gains. What was the head waiter'sname who presided with so much stateliness in the dining-room of theTyringham? I mean the white-haired chap who was so particular about thefoot-cushions for the nice old ladies in caps and lavender ribbons andIndia shawls--I think I can work him in somewhere. "

"That's Antoine, who married the assistant housekeeper at theTyringham. He's the butler and has charge of the place--a sort ofcommander-in-chief of the outfit. When I get settled I'll ask you up andyou can study the bunch at leisure. "

"Splendid! Reserve one room for me on the sunny side of the garage andI'll be up in a couple of weeks. I'm going to Ohio to-morrow for afamily reunion and a look at the loved spots my infancy knew. "

"You're lucky to have home-folks even in Ohio, " I remarked enviously. 

"Well, there's always your distant auntie, cruising the seven seas inpursuit of husbands. Nobody with an aunt to his credit can pretend to bealone in the world. There _is_ something about an aunt, Singleton! Auntsmust rank just a little below mothers in the heavenly kingdom. When Iwas a boy out in Ohio there were two great occasions every year in mylife--one when I went to visit a grand old aunt I had in the country, the other when she visited us, arriving with a wagon-load of jam, jelly, salt-rising bread, pound-cake, and other unpurchasable manna. "

"Stop! or I'll call the food censor, " I pleaded, picking up my hat. "Send me your copy of 'Lady Geranium, ' and I'll tell you whether it's aclassic or not. "

"'Lady Larkspur, '" he corrected with a shudder. "You shall have it bytrusted messenger to-morrow. "

I wired Antoine that I would reach Barton-on-the-Sound the followingday. This was September, 1917. The former servants of the Tyringham wereestablished on the place by my uncle the year before he dropped businesscares and departed for the Japan of his dreams, and as I had been oftenat the hotel where he spent so many of the years of his life, I knewmost of the old retainers. They were deeply appreciative of hiskindness, and when I had gone to the farm for an uninterrupted month infinishing some piece of writing they had shown me the greatestconsideration. 

As the train rolled along the familiar shore toward Barton I shook offthe depression occasioned by my enforced retirement from the greatstruggle overseas. I had done under the French flag all that it waspossible for me to do; and there was some consolation in the fact thatby reason of my two years on the battle-line I was just so much ahead ofthe friends I met in New York who were answering the call to the colorsand had their experience of war all before them. The tranquil life thathad been recommended by the doctors was not only possible at Barton, butit was the only life that could be lived there. Plenty of exercise inthe open and regular habits would, I had been assured, set me up again, and my leisure I meant to employ in beginning a novel that had beenteasing me ever since I sailed for home. 

Of my uncle Bash I had only the happiest and most grateful memories. Quite naturally it had occurred to me at times, and my friends hadencouraged the idea, that my uncle would die some day and leave me hismoney. There was no particular reason why he should do so, as he hadnever manifested any unusual affection for me and I had certainly neverdone anything for him. 

Antoine was at the Barton station with the touring-car Uncle Bash hadbought to establish communication with the village. Flynn, the bigIrishman who had been the doorman at the Tyringham for years and retiredbecause of rheumatism acquired from long exposure to the elements at thehostelry's portals, was at the wheel. 

Antoine greeted me with that air of lofty condescension tempered with asincere kindliness that had made him a prince among head waiters. As Ishook hands with him his lips quivered and tears came to his eyes. Flynn, standing beside the car, saluted with a welcoming grin. 

"Very glad to see you, sorr. The trunk came this mornin' all right, sorr, and we put it in your room. "

I bade Antoine join me in the back seat that he might the more easilybring me up to date as to affairs on the estate. 

"It must be a little slow up here after the years you lived in town, " Isuggested, "but of course you're all old friends. "

"Well, yes; all friends, " he acquiesced, but with so little enthusiasmthat I glanced at him quickly. He pretended to be absorbed in the flyinglandscape at the moment. Flynn, I noticed, was giving ear to ourconversation from the wheel. 

"It was sad, very sad, Mr. Bashford passing away so far from home, sir. It was a great shock. And he had looked forward for years to a quietlife abroad. It must have been ten years ago he first mentioned his hopeof retiring to Japan. "

Uncle Bash had given me no such forecast of his intentions, and I felthumble before this proof of Antoine's greater intimacy. Once at thebeginning of our acquaintance, when I had complimented Antoine on hisEnglish, he explained that he was born in England of French parents. Hisfather had been chef and his mother housekeeper for an American bankerwho lived for many years in London. Antoine's speech was that of awell-trained English upper servant, and I imagined that in his youth hehad taken some English butler as his model. He used to pretend that heknew French very imperfectly, and I was surprised when he now addressedme quite fluently in that language. 

"You have been with the armies of dear France, " he remarked. "The war isvery dreadful. My parents were of Verdun; it grieves me to know of thesuffering in the land of my people. "

As I replied sympathetically in French I saw Flynn straighten himself atthe wheel with an impatient fling of his head. Antoine indicated himwith a contemptuous nod: "Married Elsie, the German woman who worked inthe linen-room at the Tyringham! This has caused some trouble, andthere is a pantry girl, Gretchen, who was ill a long time before themaster left, and he sent her here for the country air. She is a littledevil with her dear Fatherland. "

I laughed at the old fellow's gravity and earnestness. That the warshould be making itself felt on the quiet acres at Barton-on-the-Soundwas absurd. 

"But there can be no trouble; everything is peaceful, of course, savefor a little foolish talk----"

The Gaul asserted itself in a shrug, a form of expression rare in him. Iwas pondering the recrudescence of race hatreds due to the upheaval inEurope when he startled me by a statement uttered close to my ear:

"There have been inquiries for the widow; these have caused me muchanxiety. "

"Widow! Whose widow?"

"Madame, the widow of the dear master. It seems that there are personsanxious to see her. There have been inquiries, one--two--three times. "

"Probably some of her American friends anxious to pay their respects, or some of the neighbors making calls of courtesy, " I suggested. 

"A foreign gentleman who acts very queerly, " Antoine persisted. 

My uncle's widow was a vague, unknown being whom I had never expected tocross my horizons. If she meditated a descent upon Barton-on-the-Sound, the trust company would certainly have had some hint of her approach, but Torrence clearly had had no tidings of her beyond her lastcommunication from Bangkok. Still, it was wholly possible that aglobe-trotting widow would have friends in many parts of the world, andI could see nothing disturbing in the fact that inquiries had been madefor her. I said as much. Antoine's answer was another shrug and a jerkof his head toward Flynn, as though even the employment of an alientongue might not conceal our conversation from the big Irishman. Antoinewas manifestly impatient at my refusal to be aroused by his hints ofdiscord among his associates and my lack of interest in the inquiriesfor Mrs. Bashford. When we had reached the farm and were runningthrough the grounds Antoine spoke again:

"We thought we would put you up at the house, Mr. Singleton, and not inthe garage, " he said inquiringly. 

"Not at all, Antoine, " I answered quickly. "We must stick close to thelaw in such matters. "

"Very good, sir. Stop at the garage, Flynn. "

To the casual observer the garage was a charming two-story housefollowing the general lines of the plaster and timber residence, fromwhich it was separated by a strip of woodland and a formal garden. Thegarage and quarters for the chauffeur were at one end and at the otherwere a down-stairs living-room, with a broad fireplace, and threechambers above so planned as to afford a charming view of the Sound, whose shore curved in deeply at this point. On the chauffeur's side wasa small kitchen from which I had been served with my meals when I lodgedthere. This thoroughly convenient establishment was the only place Icould call home, and I experienced a pleasurable sense of comfort as Iopened the door into the snug living-room. 

"The house is in order. You will have your meals at the residence, Isuppose, sir, " Antoine suggested. 

I debated this a moment, and when he hinted that dinner could be moreconveniently served there than in my own quarters, I said that for thepresent the Flynns might give me breakfast and luncheon at the garage, but that I would dine at the house. The original owner of the property, from whose executor my uncle had purchased it with all its belongings, had accumulated a remarkable library, rich in the Elizabethan stuff forwhich I have a weakness, and it occurred to me that it would be pleasantto eat my solitary dinner at the residence and loaf in the library foran hour afterward. Like most slaves of the inkpot, I habitually postponeactual labor as long as possible, and if I were to dine at the garage Ishould have no excuse for not plunging at once into my novel. TheTyringham people were domiciled in cottages scattered over the estate, though a full staff of house servants was established in the residence. 

It was five o'clock when I reached the garage, and Antoine left me afteropening my bags with the suggestion that I could summon Zimmerman, aformer valet of the Tyringham, for any service I might require. I knewZimmerman very well and said I would call him when occasion required. 

"He is of that race, " said Antoine plaintively in the French which nowseemed to come readily enough to his lips. 

"Race? Botheration! You mustn't trouble yourself about race questionsout here, Antoine. Zimmerman is a good old chap, who's probablyforgotten the very name of the German town he was born in. "

"They do not forget, " Antoine replied with emphasis. "There has beenmuch discussion--much----"

"Forget it, Antoine! I supposed you were all living here like a happyfamily. You've been sticking too close to the farm, and it would do yougood to run into town for a week. Please tell them at the residence thatI'll dine at seven. "

"Very good, sir, " he said in his pompous Tyringham manner, but I sawthat he was miffed by my indifference. 

Flynn, having disposed of the car, came to ask if there was anything hecould do for me. When I had explained my arrangement with Antoine hestill lingered. 

"Tony's against the wife and me, " he said mournfully. "It's the war, sorr, and she and me that lile, sorr, the American flag floats from thegarage every day. And if a heart can be lile, Elsie's as true to Americaas though she was born in Boston State-house. "

"I believe you, Flynn, " I said, touched by his earnestness. "Don't youworry about Antoine and the rest of them; they're just a little nervous;I'll see what I can do to straighten things out. "

As I went about my unpacking I was sorry that I had discouragedAntoine's confidences. That these old hotel servants, flung upon a farmwith little to do, should fall to quarrelling was not surprising, butwhat he had said as to the inquiries for Mrs. Bashford had roused mycuriosity. In spite of my legal right to live on the farm, I had nointention of remaining if my uncle's widow turned up. Alone on theestate I could lodge in the garage without any loss of dignity, but withan aunt on the premises my status would be decidedly uncomfortable. Shecould hardly fail to regard me as an intruding poor relation, no matterhow strictly I kept to my own quarters. It was possible that she mighteven confuse me with the veterans of the Tyringham, and, while I am nosnob, I did not relish the idea of being classed by a strange aunt witha crowd of broken-down hotel employees. 

I whistled myself into good humor as I dressed and started for the housealong the driveway, which followed the shore, veering off for a look atthe sunken garden, one of the few features of the place that had everinterested my uncle. 

As I paused on the steps I caught sight of a man sitting dejectedly on astone bench near a fountain whose jet tossed and caught a ball withlanguid iteration. I had identified him as an old Tyringham bell-hop, known familiarly as Dutch, before he heard my step and sprang to hisfeet, grabbing a pitchfork whose prongs he presented threateningly. 

"Oh, it's you, sir, " he faltered, dropping the implement. "Excuse me, sir!"

"What's your trouble, Dutch? You're not expecting burglars, are you?"

"Well, no, sir, but things on the place ain't what they wuz. It's myname, which ain't my name, not reg'lar, that's caused feelin'. They'vedrove me out, an' I'm campin' in the tool-house. An' me born right therein New York an' American clean through. My grandpap came across when hewuz a kid, but it ain't my fault he wuz Goiman. I'd 'a' made 'im aFrenchy or a Dago or somethin' else if I could 'a' done it. Mr. Singleton, I don't know no Goiman except pretzel, sauerkraut, wienerwurst, and them kind o' woids. "

"Those belong to the universal language, Dutch, " I answered consolingly. "What is your name, anyhow?"

"Augustus Schortemeier, and I say it ain't no worse'n Longfellow, " heprotested. 

The point was delicate and not one that I felt myself qualified todiscuss. To cover my confusion I suggested that poets enjoy a certainlicense, but I was honestly sorry for Dutch. If he was not the oldestliving bell-hop, he was at least entitled to honorable mention among themost ancient veterans of the calling, vocation, or avocation of thebell-hopper. I bade him cheer up and passed on. 

As I reached the house I heard a sharp command in an authoritative voiceand saw at a curve of the driveway a number of men in military formationperforming evolutions in the most sprightly manner. They carriedbroomsticks, and at sight of me the commander brought his company to avery ragged "Present arms!" Their uniform was that of the Tyringhambell-hops and waiters, and it dawned upon me that this was an army ofprotest representing the Allied armies on the shores of Connecticut. There was a dozen of them, and the captain I recognized as Scotty, a hopwho had long worn the Tyringham livery. I waved my hand to them andturned to find Antoine awaiting me at the door. 

"It's the troops, sir, " he explained. "It's to keep Dutch and Gretchenand Elsie--she's the wife of that Flynn--in proper order, sir. "

"Troops" was a large term for the awkward squad of retired waiters andbell-hops, and it was with difficulty that I kept my face straight. 

"It's most unfortunate, but we was forced to it. Dinner is served, sir. "

From the table in the long dining-room I caught glimpses through thegathering dusk of Scotty's battalion at its evolutions. 

"They keep a guard all night, sir, " Antoine explained, not withoutpride. "The goings on has been most peculiar. "

"Antoine!" I said sharply, "what do you mean by these hints of troubleon the place? You're not silly enough to imagine that Dutch and a coupleof women can do anything out here to aid America's enemies! The rest ofyou ought to be ashamed of yourselves for annoying them. And as forthese inquiries about Mrs. Bashford, they couldn't possibly haveanything to do with the war. Specifically, who are the persons who'veasked for her?"

"There's the party I told you about, most persistent, who's motored herethree times, and another person who seems to be looking for _him_, sir. It's most singular. "

"It's singularly ridiculous; that's all. They're probably piano-tunersor rival agents for a rug house or something of that sort who don't knowthat Mrs. Bashford isn't here or at all likely to be. "

"They may be agents, but not that kind, sir. " His lips quivered, eitherfrom fear or vexation at my refusal to take his story seriously. 

"If anything tangible happens, Antoine, " I said kindly, "anything we canreally put our hands on, we'll certainly deal with it. But you mustn'tget nervous or allow yourself to suspect everybody who turns up here ofevil designs against the Republic. I've come here for quiet, you know, and we can't have every passing stranger throwing the place into apanic. "

I had no sooner reached the library, where he gave me coffee, than Iheard a slow, measured tread on the broad brick terrace that ran alongthe house on the side toward the Sound. The windows were open and theguard was in plain view. I glanced at Antoine, whose attitude toward mewas that of one benevolently tolerant of stupidity. He meant to save mein spite of my obtuseness. "Tell the picket to remove himself where Iwon't hear him, if you please, Antoine. "

He disappeared through one of the French windows and in a moment I sawthe guard patrolling a walk some distance from the house. I now mademyself comfortable with a book and a cigar, but I had hardly settledmyself for a quiet hour before I heard a commotion from the direction ofthe gate, followed a few minutes later by a shout and a noisy colloquy, after which a roadster arrived in haste at the front door. 

"Mr. Torrence, sir, " announced Antoine. "I'm sorry, sir, but he ran bythe guard at the gate, and our man below the house stopped him. It's aprecaution we've been taking, sir. "

Torrence's sense of humor was always a little feeble, and I hastenedinto the hall to reassure him as to his welcome. He was wiping theperspiration from his face and swearing under his breath. 

"For God's sake, Singleton, what's happened here? A band of piratesjumped on my running-board, and after I'd knocked them off a road-agentstopped me right there in sight of the house and poked the muzzle of ashotgun in my face. "

"Mighty sorry you were annoyed, but there have been some queercharacters about, tramps and that sort of thing, and the people on theplace are merely a little anxious. Have a cigar?"

"All I can say is that you'd better send your friends the password! Thatfool out there with the gun----"

"Only a bell-hop, nothing more, " I interrupted. 

"--That fool, I say, is likely to kill somebody. Antoine"--he turned tothe butler, who was drawing the curtains at the windows--"if theproperty's been threatened, you should have informed me immediately. "

"Yes, sir; but it's only been quite recent, and, knowing Mr. Singletonwas coming, we didn't like to bother you. "

"We can only apologize, Torry, " I interposed. "The employees have beenalarmed, but we're bound to commend their zeal. "

"Humph!" he ejaculated, the wounds to his dignity still rankling. 

I forced a cigar upon him and talked of the weather to cover Antoine'sretreat. I resolved not to tell him the real cause of the servant'sapprehensions, knowing his disposition to magnify trifles and fearing hemight send the police to investigate. He lived only five miles fromBarton, a fact to which he now referred. 

"Hadn't heard of any tramps over my way, " he said, frowning. "These oldlunatics your uncle left here are simply hipped; that's all. Mr. Bashford made a mistake in turning the place over to them; it was silly, downright silly. It's a wonder you didn't think of upsetting his will onthe ground of mental unsoundness. It's not up to me to suggest such athing, but I believe you could knock it out!"

"Oh, chuck it! They're well-meaning helpless people, and it's bully thatUncle Bash provided a home for them. There's nobody else to use theplace. "

His cigar had proved soothing, but my last remark caused him to sit upstraight in his chair. 

"By George! my hold-up almost made me forget what I came for. I havenews for you, Singleton; good or bad, as you may take it; Mrs. Bashfordis in America. "

"Mrs. Bashford, " I repeated faintly, "where do you get these pleasanttidings?"

"This, " he answered, producing a telegram, "is all I know about it. Gotit just as I was leaving the office this afternoon, and thought I'dmotor over and give you a pleasant surprise. "

He seemed to enjoy my discomfiture. The message read:

 PITTSFIELD, MASS. , Sept. 20. 

 J. B. TORRENCE, _Bainbridge Trust Co. , New York. _

 Landed at Seattle a week ago, and have been motoring east from Chicago to see the country. Will reach Barton in four or five days. Please wire me at the Washington Inn, Lenox, whether house is in order for occupancy. 

 ALICE BASHFORD. 

"Well, what do you say to that?" he demanded. 

"I say it's taking unfair advantage, " I answered savagely. "I've got toclear out; that's the first thing. "

"Not necessarily. Your right to the garage is settled; she couldn't oustyou if she wanted to. You've got to stay here anyhow till she comes;there's no ducking that. The widow of an uncle who did a lot for you, astranger to the country; it's up to you to see her established. Thereare many little courtesies she would naturally expect from you. "

"I'm delighted that you see my duty so clearly! If you hadn't assured methat she was safe at the end of the world I wouldn't have set foothere. "

"The house is in order, I judge, " he remarked, glancing about the room. "I've got to wire her that we're ready for her. "

"You most certainly have! Your duty is as plain as a smoke-stack. Youmight add that she's causing serious inconvenience to her late husband'sonly nephew. "

"You really don't mean that?" he inquired anxiously. 

"Oh, thunder, no!"

I had forgotten how trying Torrence could be. He now suggested that wesummon Antoine and take a look at the house. Torrence is a conscientiousfellow with an exact and orderly mind, and there was no corner of theplace from cellar to garret that we didn't explore. It was highlycreditable to the old Tyringham servants that the house was thoroughlyhabitable. All that need be done before Mrs. Bashford arrived was to laylinen on the beds and take the jackets from the furniture; a couple ofhours would suffice, Antoine said. 

As we were on our way down-stairs the old fellow detained me a moment. 

"Have you told him about the parties? Pardon me, sir, " he whispered, "but him and the trust company is responsible. I thought likely you'dtell him. "

I shook my head in angry rejection of the idea that I should tellTorrence about "the parties, " and dismissed him as soon as we reachedthe hall. 

"I suggest, " said Torrence, "that when she comes you have flowers in allthe rooms; the conservatory will supply enough. And it occurs to me thatthe more inconspicuous you make this bunch of lazy dependents the moreagreeable it will be for Mrs. Bashford. "

"You don't expect much of me! It was never in the contract that I shouldbecome the patriarch of these venerable relics. But I'll warn them toconceal themselves as much as possible. I fully expect to leave thereservation for good just one hour after the lady arrives. "

"That's your affair, of course. As she's motoring, we can't just timeher arrival, but when I get a wire that she's on the way I'll telephoneyou. And, of course, after she gets here I'll come at once to pay myrespects. "

"You can't come too soon!" I answered spitefully. 

CHAPTER II

THE AMAZING WIDOW

As soon as Torrence left I returned to the garage, feeling that withMrs. Bashford on American soil my use of the residence even as aloafing-place was unbecoming. Mrs. Bashford was not only in America, butwith a motor at her command she might reach Barton at any hour. And thevigorous, dominating woman who had captured my uncle Bash, buried him ina far country, and then effected a hop, skip, and jump from Bangkok toSeattle, was likely to be a prodigal spender of gasoline. Her propensityfor travelling encouraged the hope that she would quickly weary ofBarton and pine for lands where the elephant and jinrickisha flourish. 

I had brought with me the manuscript of Searles's play, and I fell uponit irritably and began reading the first act. The dialogue movedbriskly, and I read on as though enfolded in the air of a crisp springmorning. It was Searles's whimsical stroke, only with a better vehiclethan he had ever before found for it. My grouch over the upsetting of myplans yielded under the spell of his humor. 

"Lady Larkspur" was the name assumed by the daughter of a reclusenaturalist in the valley of Virginia. She had known no life but that ofthe open country, where she ran wild all summer, aiding her father incollecting plants and butterflies. At twenty she had never seen a city, and her social contacts had been limited to the country folk, who viewedher with commiseration as the prisoner of her misanthrope father, who inthe fifteen years of his exile had maintained a hostile attitude towardhis neighbors. He had, however, educated the girl in such manner thatonly the cheer and joy of life were known to her. Hating mankind, he hadencouraged her in nature-worship. She knew no literature except theclassics; all history, even the history of the storied valley in whichshe lived, was a sealed book to her. 

The girl's curiosity is roused by the sudden appearance of strangersfrom the unknown world beyond, whom she mystifies by her quaintold-worldishness. Searles had taken an old theme and given a novel twistto it. The solution of the mystery of the father's exile and an amusingcomplication of lovers afforded a suspensive interest well sustained tothe end. There were innumerable charming scenes, as where the girl inthe outlandish costume in which she roamed the hills perches on aboulder and recites the "Iliad" to her suitors. In the last act sheappears at a ball at a country house in sophisticated raiment, and thestory ends in the key of mirth in which it began. 

It was a delightful blending and modernization of Diana, Atalanta, Cinderella, and Rosalind; but even in the typewritten page it wasamazingly alive and well calculated to evoke tears and laughter. That aplay so enthralling should be buried in a safety-vault was not to bethought of, and I sat down and wrote Searles a long letter demandingthat he at once forget the lost star for whom he had written the piece, suggesting the names of several well-known actresses I thought worthconsidering for the difficult leading rôle. Not satisfied with this, Itelephoned a telegram to the agent at Barton for transmission toSearles at the Ohio address he had given me. 

The next day passed without incident, and on the second, hearing nothingfrom Torrence, I began to doubt Mrs. Bashford's proximity. On the third, still hearing nothing, I harkened to an invitation from friends at NewLondon and drove over in the runabout for dinner. It was midnight when Igot back, and when I reached the gates several men dashed out of thelodge and halted me. 

"She's come, sir, " announced Antoine, emerging from the darkness, andspeaking under stress of deep emotion; "madame the widow has arrived, sir!"

"Why not Cleopatra or the Queen of Sheba?" I exclaimed testily to covermy annoyance that my aunt had effected her descent in my absence. "Well, she was expected; the house is hers; what do you want me to do aboutit?" I ended with affected jocularity. 

"We received her the best we could; but it was most unfortunate, yournot being here, sir. "

"Is that your idea, Antoine, or do you reflect the lady's sentiments?I'm properly humiliated either way. Tell me just what she said. "

"Well, sir, she just laughed when I took the liberty of apologizing. "

"The sneering laughter of outraged dignity! Go ahead and give me therest of it. "

"It was at ten she came, sir, and the guard held her up, not recognizingher, here at the gate, and when the car didn't stop the boys chased herand fired at the tires of her machine. It was very dreadful, sir. And atthe house--at the door, sir--the guard was very harsh with her, sir, most regrettable. "

"You certainly made a mess of it!" I ejaculated. "But you did let herin--into her own house, we must remember--you did grant her the courtesyof a lodging for the night?" I inquired ironically. 

"She's retired, sir. There was a lady with her; maybe a maid; I can'texactly say; and we did everything, sir, to make her comfortable. Shewas not what you might say fussy, sir, but quite human-like. We was allrelieved, sir, the way she took everything. I hope you'll pardon us, sir, which was due to not being warned. "

"Oh, it's all right with me, but in the morning she'll probably bouncethe whole lot of us. An old lady fatigued from a journey cross countryand shot at on her own premises--it's a very pretty story. "

They were a picturesque lot, the ancient waiters and bell-hops groupedabout Antoine with their lanterns and garden implements and firearms. Antoine was swallowing hard in his effort to continue his recital. 

"You say an old lady, sir; the mistress is not really what you wouldcall so old--not exactly, sir. "

"Really a youngish party, I should say, " volunteered Graves, thegardener. 

Just what these veterans would call old was a matter of conjecture. "Um, " I murmured, and considered the situation. 

"Young or old, she would hardly relish her reception. There was a maid, and they came in a machine? Did you put up the chauffeur or did youshoot him on the spot?"

"It was a hired machine, sir; and madame sent it away. The driver was agood deal upset over the shooting. One of the rear tires was quiteblown away. "

"You're in luck if he doesn't have you all arrested to-morrow, " Iremarked consolingly. 

"Mrs. Bashford seemed quite amused by the occurrence, " Antoinecontinued. "'Wonderful America!' she kept saying after we'd got herinside. We gave her tea, which was all she asked for. She takes her teawith cream, sir. We did our best to make her comfortable. And there wasa dog, sir. I recall that the master was not fond of dogs. There wasnever one on the place. "

Antoine spoke truly; if there was anything my Uncle Bash detested it wasa dog, but I reflected that a world-skipping widow who could corral sodifficult a subject as my uncle would be quite capable of inspiring himwith delight in the canine species. My respect for the woman's powers ofpersuasion was intensified by this disclosure. 

She had failed to wire Torrence as she promised or he had neglected towarn me of her coming; either way it was a pretty kettle of fish, and Ishuddered at the thought of facing her wholly pardonable indignation. 

To make sure that nothing was required of me until morning, I drove pastthe house with the army hanging to the footboard. The lower rooms weredark, but lights twinkled through the second-story shutters. My aunt wasestablished on the premises, and her coming and the circumstances of heradvent constituted a good joke of which I and not she was the victim. When I reached my quarters in the garage I sat down and laughed untilFlynn appeared, frightened by my noisy mirth that had penetrated to hisquarters. I got rid of him and smoked a pipe and began the packing Imeant to finish early in the morning. 

I wakened early, rang a bell connecting my rooms with the chauffeur'send of the garage as a warning to the Flynns to prepare breakfast, andwas dressed when the Irishman came in with the tray. In the absence of amorning paper I clung to him for company. 

"I trust you will not be leaving, sorr, " he remarked, eyeing myhalf-packed trunk. 

"Very soon, Flynn. "

"Then Elsie and I will be going too, sorr. It's most uncomfortablethey're making us--Dutch and the rest. That Antoine and his army keeppesterin' us and callin' us Huns. "

"You raise a very interesting question, Flynn, a very delicate questionof fact and propriety. Satisfied as you and Elsie are of your entireloyalty to the United States and the associated Powers, I think youshould remain, a martyr, if need be, to the great cause of worlddemocracy. "

"It's most disagreeable we find it, the wife and me, " he saidmournfully. 

"Suffer and be strong--that's the watchword! We will hope that Mrs. Bashford is a woman of sound sense and tact who will exert herself torestore peace on her property. When I call to pay my respects and makemy adieus I shall speak to her of the situation and vouch for yourloyalty. You may count on me. You haven't, I suppose, seen the widowyet--she's probably sleeping late. "

"Quite the contrary, sorr. She's been up and around for an hour an'more. She's been all over the place and stopped for a squint at thegarage, her and the pup. "

"She's been here, inspecting the garage?" I asked, glancing at my watch. It was not yet eight o'clock. The banter died out of me; clearly it hadbeen my duty to be on hand to pilot her over the estate, or at least toreceive her at the garage. "Just what was the lady's frame of mind--asto things generally. Peeved, was she, over the row last night?"

"Oh, no, sorr; quite cheerful an' friendly. She's ordered a big car fromNew York and told me it would be coming up to-day and to make a placefor it. "

Here was news indeed, destroying all my hopes that she meditated only abrief sojourn. The purchase of a machine meant definitely that she wouldremain for some time, perhaps for the winter. I poured a second cup ofcoffee, swallowed it, grabbed my hat and stick, and asked enlightment asto the course taken by Mrs. Bashford when she left the garage. 

"She took the lower road, sorr, toward the Sound and stepped off quitebrisk-like. "

It was the serenest of September mornings, and I hurried away, thinkingthe cloudless blue arch, the twinkling sea, and the crisp air mightserve to soften my aunt's displeasure at her hostile reception. From theconservatories I caught a glimpse of a woman on the beach--a slender, agile woman throwing a ball for the amusement of a fox-terrier. Shethrew the ball with a boy's free swing, occasionally varying a hot onedown the shore with a toss high in air which she caught up herselfbefore the terrier could reach it. The two were having no end of a goodtime. She laughed joyfully when the ball fell into her hands and theterrier barked his discomfiture and eagerness for a chance to redeemhimself. 

Antoine's equivocal statement as to Mrs. Bashford's age was ridiculous. Instead of the middle-aged woman whom I was prepared to meet, here wasbeyond question a vigorous, healthy being whose every movement spoke foryouth and the joy of life. It might, after all, be the maid of whomAntoine had spoken; I advanced slowly, anxious not to break in upon herromp with the terrier--they made a charming picture--and trying toformulate an introduction. I reached a low stone wall that separated thelawn from the beach just as she effected a running pick-up of the ball. She turned swiftly and flung it straight at my head. Involuntarily Iput up my hand and caught it just as she saw me and cried out--a cry ofwarning and contrition. I tossed the ball to the dog. 

"What must you think of me!" she exclaimed. "I was blinded by thesunlight and I didn't see you--really I did not!"

"I had no business being in the way, " I laughed, noting first herglowing color, her violet eyes--amazingly fine eyes they were--her fairhair with its golden glint, her plain black gown with lawn collar andwristbands. It was her age, however, that roused me to instantspeculation. Twenty-five, I decided, was a maximum; more likely she wasnot more than twenty-two, and if I had been told that eighteen was thetotal of her years I shouldn't have had the heart to dispute it. 

"Bob Singleton, " I said and stupidly added, "and you are Mrs. Bashford?"unable for the life of me to avoid turning the statement into aninquiry. 

"I am your aunt Alice, " she said with a smile, putting out her hand. "Down, Rex!" she commanded the dancing terrier; "lie down; school's overnow"; whereupon Rex obediently sprawled in the sand and began trying toswallow the ball. 

"Wasn't that silly of me to try to kill you the first time we met!" Hereyes danced with merriment. "I didn't know, of course, that any one wasabout. But you made a very nice catch of it! I had expected to receiveyou most formally in the drawing-room, but this really serves very well. That tree down yonder is inviting; suppose we stay out here and talk abit. "

This struck me as the pleasantest thing imaginable, though I was stilldazed and my tongue seemed to have died in my mouth. This girl, thiswholly charming and delightful young woman, was the monstrous being Ihad conjectured as the globe-trotting widow who had kidnapped andmarried my uncle! Not only had she married my uncle Bash and in duecourse buried him; she had been a widow when she married him! Ifurtively studied her face--a face that invited scrutiny--and her candideyes that met my gaze of wonder and frank admiration easily and withouta trace of self-consciousness. On the third finger of her left hand wasa slender band of gold. The thing was staggering, bewildering. She wasclearly anxious to be friendly, but nothing that I had thought of sayingto her fitted the situation. 

"In the first place, " I finally began, "I must apologize most humbly forthe earnest efforts of the servants to murder you last night. Mr. Torrence had promised to let me know when you would reach here, but hemust have forgotten it. I had motored to a friend's house to dine anddidn't get back until the mischief was done. I'm very sorry. You musthave thought you had driven into a camp of savages!"

"Not for worlds would I have missed that, " she exclaimed with a merrylaugh. "It was perfectly delicious! And it was all my fault. I meant toremain a day at Hartford, you know, and send a message to Mr. Torrencefrom there, but I found that by pushing on I could reach here yesterday. Then the machine I hired showed every weakness that motors are subjectto and we were hours later than the Hartford garage man promised. Andyou know we English always expect strange things to happen in America. Idon't understand yet why those people at the gates were so jollyanxious to kill us; but it doesn't matter; you would only spoil the jokeby explaining it. "

However, I did my best--it was a weak attempt--to explain thenervousness of the veteran servants and their display of violence. Herarrival made it likely that we should soon know more about the "parties"whose visits and inquiries had so alarmed Antoine and his comrades. Nowthat I saw Mrs. Bashford the idea that any one could entertainmalevolent designs upon her was more preposterous than ever, and Iresolved that she must be shielded from annoyances of every kind. I toldher with all the humor I could throw into the recital of the drilling ofthe bell-hops and of the uncomfortable relations between the Alliedforces and the Teutonic minority on the estate. 

"It was dear of Mr. Bashford to provide a home for these people; wasn'the really the kindest soul that ever lived?" she said softly. 

She gazed wistfully seaward, and I saw the gleam of tears on her longlashes. My uncle had, then, meant something to her! No one, in speechor manner, could have suggested the adventuress less; Uncle Bash was agentleman, a man of æsthetic tastes, and the girl was adorable. Moreremarkable things had happened in the history of love and marriage thanthat two such persons, meeting in a far corner of the world, wouldhonestly care for each other. My respect for Uncle Bash grew; he hadmarried the most attractive girl in the world, and here she was with thebloom of her girlhood upon her, tripping alone through a world thatmight have been created merely that she might confer light and cheerupon it. 

"You stopped at Hartford, " I began, breaking a long silence. "You havefriends there----?"

"Not one! I had made a pious pilgrimage to Mark Twain's last home atRedding, and, hearing that he had lived at Hartford, I came throughthere to render my fullest homage. He has always been one of my heroes, you know. " She laughingly lifted her hands and counted upon herfingers--"'The Jumping Frog, ' Tom and Huck, and 'Mulberry Sellers, ' 'ThePrince and the Pauper, ' and 'Pudd'nhead Wilson'! I know them all byheart!"

"Our introduction is complete, " I said reverently. "Let's considerourselves old friends. "

"I rather thought we'd understand each other, " she said in her even, mellow tones. "You know, we had your photograph out East--a very goodone, it seems--so I had an idea of what you looked like. "

"The photograph gave you an unfair advantage! And I didn't know UncleBash carried one away with him. "

"He was very fond of you, " she said gravely. "He was very proud that youhad gone into the war. "

"I am glad to hear that; I thought he disapproved of me for refusing togo into business. He offered me a substantial interest before he soldout. "

"I know that; but I think he liked you rather better for refusing it. Business with him was merely a means to an end. And it was doubly sadthat he should die just when he was free to enjoy the beautiful thingshe loved. "

It was at the tip of my tongue to say that the loss of her companionshipwas even more grievous; but nothing in her manner invited such acomment. Her grave moods were to be respected, and she talked for sometime of Uncle Bash's life in the East, of his short illness and quiteunexpected death. 

"But I'm keeping you, " she exclaimed suddenly, jumping down from thewall. "And I must finish my unpacking. "

As we walked to the house I answered her questions about theneighborhood, and promised to telephone Torrence immediately of herarrival. 

"You will have luncheon with us--or maybe dinner would be better--orboth? Antoine told me of your bachelor establishment, but eating aloneis bad for the digestion. I shall think you resent my coming if youdon't dine at the house every day. Mrs. Farnsworth--my friend andcompanion--is a very interesting woman. I am sure you will like her. "

The information that she was protected in her youthful widowhood by acompanion was imparted neatly. 

"It was really much nicer, meeting this way, " she said, giving me herhand. "We shall expect you at seven. "

I found them on the veranda, which had been transformed since my lastglimpse of it. Rugs, wicker furniture, wall-pockets of flowers, andpaper lanterns dropped over the electric lights gave it the appearanceof a prettily set scene. She came toward me, a slender figure in white. She seemed taller in white; as she took a few steps toward me, I wasaware of a stateliness I had missed at the shore. A queenly youngperson, but as unaffectedly cordial and friendly as in the brightmorning sunlight. 

"Mrs. Farnsworth, Mr. Singleton. "

Mrs. Farnsworth was a pleasant-faced, white-haired woman with remarkablyfine, dark eyes. If the positions had been changed--if Mrs. Farnsworthhad been my uncle's choice of a wife, the situation would have been muchmore real. I instantly liked Mrs. Farnsworth. She uttered a fewcommonplaces in an uncommonplace tone without pausing in her knitting. Mrs. Bashford had been knitting too, and as she sat down she took up heryarn and needles. It was a sweater, I think; it doesn't matter. Whatmatters is that her hands moved swiftly and deftly. Her manner ofknitting was charming. She knew that I was watching her hands andremarked with a graceful turn of the head:

"For an English boy somewhere! I began by knitting for my brother andcousins, but"--her head bent lower--"that isn't for me to do any more. "Her eyes, turned upon me for a moment, were bright with tears. 

I was speaking of the splendid valor of Englishmen I had known in Francewhen Antoine announced dinner. 

It had been years since the house had known a woman's hand, and it wasastonishing how humanized it had become in a few hours. The longdining-room, always a bare, forbidding place, had been reduced to coseyproportions by screens, and a small round table replaced the massive, oblong affair that always looked as though it had been built into thehouse by the carpenters. 

"I found those lovely screens in the garret and thought we might as wellenjoy them, and that Lang Yao jar you see on the sideboard oughtn't tobe hidden in the vault. "

"I am sure Uncle Bash would be happy to know you care for these thingsso much, " I said, noting that the white roses she had chosen for thejar--I knew the choice was hers--served to emphasize the deep red of itsexquisite glaze. 

"I am among the unelect, " remarked Mrs. Farnsworth. "When I am told thatsuch things are beautiful I am immediately convinced. I say they arebeautiful, and that is enough. "

"That has always been enough for me, " I replied. "My uncle used to tryto interest me, and I wore out a good many pairs of shoes following himthrough museums and salesrooms, but he gave me up when he found that mypagan soul was aroused by nothing but pottery idols. It wasn't thepottery that interested me even there, but only the ugliest designs. Iam a heathen!"

"I am gratified that you make the admission so frankly, " said Mrs. Farnsworth. "I have always been a great admirer of the heathen. "

"I like them when they are nice, " said Mrs. Bashford. 

"Yes; I have found you very discriminating in your choice of thespecies, Alice. But, you know, Mr. Singleton, Alice and I never canagree as to just what a heathen is. All our squabbles have been aboutthat. The old hymn pictured the heathen in his blindness bowing down towood and stone; but I'm disposed to broaden my definition to include allwho believe in fairies good or bad, and persons who honestly believe insigns, omens, and lucky stones and all who have the receipt of fern-seedand walk invisible--there's Shakespeare for that. Some very goodChristians are also very nice heathens: we mustn't be narrow and bigotedabout such things. "

"I think, " said Mrs. Bashford soberly, "that I have always believed inwitches; and if I keep on believing I shall see one some day. We shallfind anything in this world that we believe in hard enough. Now awitch--the kind of witch I have always expected to wake up and findflourishing a broom at me from the foot of my bed----"

She was talking very gravely, as though witches were the commonest topicof conversation, but finding my eyes turned upon her in frank wonder, she laughed at my amazement. 

"Let us be honest with you, Mr. Singleton, " Mrs. Farnsworth explained, "and tell you that we are just testing you. It may be a breach ofhospitality, and you are all but a stranger, but we are curious to knowwhether you are of that small company of the favored of heaven who canplay at being foolish without becoming idiotic. Alice is sometimes verynear idiocy. You admit that, Alice!"

"I not only admit it, but I might even boast of it!" my aunt replied. 

At the mention of witches I had caught Antoine crossing himself as heturned to the sideboard. I confess that I myself had been startled bythe drift of the talk. Mrs. Farnsworth was far from being the grimduenna I had feared might be my aunt's chaperon, and there was certainlynothing in her appearance to suggest that she was a believer in witches. She and my aunt treated each other as though they were contemporaries, and it was Alice and Constance between them. As the talk ranexhaustively through the lore of witches and goblins I had hoped thatone or the other would drop some clew as to the previous history of myamazing aunt. It was as plain as day that she and Mrs. Farnsworthindulged in whims for the joy of it, and her zest in the discussion ofwitches, carried on while Antoine served the table, lips tightlycompressed, and with an exaggeration of his stately tread, was the morestartling from the fact that my aunt's companion was a woman of years, ahandsome woman with a high-bred air who did not look at all like aperson who would discuss witches as though they had been made the topicof the day by the afternoon newspapers. And when the shape of a witch'schin became the immediate point of discussion I knew it was in Antoine'smind that such conversation was unbecoming, an offense to the memory ofRaymond Bashford. Mrs. Farnsworth's brown eyes sparkled, and the colordeepened in my aunt's cheeks as we discoursed upon witches and the chinsthereof. I had a friend in college who used to indulge in the same sortof piffling, but that my uncle's widow and her elderly companion shoulddelight in such absurdities bewildered me. I had been addressing my auntas Mrs. Bashford--it seemed ridiculous to call her Aunt Alice--and inthe heat of our argument as to whether witches are necessarily naughtyand malign beings I had just uttered the "Mrs. " when she bent toward meand said gravely and with no hint of archness: "Can't we make it Aliceand Bob? I think that would be a lot friendlier. "

I experienced a curious flutter of the heart the first time I tried it, but after that it came very easily. I found it impossible to think ofher in terms of auntship, and it was a relief to have the relationshipwaived. She was simply the jolliest, prettiest girl that had evercrossed my horizon, and to be talking to her across the table gave methrills compared with which sliding out of clouds in an airplane is onlya rocking-chair pastime for old men. 

The veteran chef of the Tyringham had produced an excellent dinner, though the witch talk made Antoine a trifle nervous in serving it. 

We had coffee on the veranda (Alice thought it would be nicer there), and as Antoine gave me my cup he edged close to my chair to whisper:

"That party, sir. If he should come----"

"Tell the troops not to attack any visitors, " I said, loud enough forthe others to hear. "Mr. Torrence will be here shortly, and it would beannoying to have him ushered in on a shutter. We must establish a rulethat callers are not to be fired upon at the gate. "

"I know why this is the land of the free and the home of the brave, "laughed Alice. "One has to be brave to live here. "

Antoine departed with a resentful twist of the shoulders, and I decidedto meet squarely the matter of the visitors who had so troubled him. 

"Please don't be frightened, " I said as lightly as possible, "but theseold fellows haven't enough to do, and they are full of apprehensions. With nobody here to keep them busy it's remarkable they haven't found aghost. "

"If they only would!" murmured Mrs. Farnsworth. 

"No such luck! They have been alarmed by an agent of some sort who wantsto welcome you to America by selling you a piano on easy payments. "

Antoine had been hovering inside, and my remark brought him to thedoor. 

"Beg pardon, Mr. Singleton, but that party is not an agent, but quitedifferent, sir. He came to the house, quite like a gentleman, severaltimes, and asked if Mrs. Bashford had arrived. He came in a big car, andseemed disappointed, madame, that you were not here and not expected. The second time he said he was just passing on his way to the city andthought he would stop again. A very well-spoken gentleman, and we'd havethought nothing of it except that a few days later I caught a man I wassure was the same party, but dressed in rough clothes, sneaking acrossthe veranda right there where you're sitting. When I called to him heran as hard as he could, and Graves--he's the vegetable-gardener--sawhim leaving the property by the back way. "

"It's hardly possible that a man who impressed you as a gentleman whenyou saw him at the door should have returned in disguise and tried tobreak into the house. The two things don't hang together, Antoine. "

"Oh, " exclaimed Mrs. Farnsworth, "it would be so much more delightful ifthat were true! Any one in disguise is bound to be interesting. Adisguise suggests most beautiful possibilities. And to be sought, askedfor by a stranger!"

I could not be sure in the dim light of the veranda, but I thought Idetected a white slipper cautiously reach out and touch a black one. Atany rate, Mrs. Farnsworth lapsed into silence. 

"Thank you very much, Antoine, " said Alice. "It is very proper for youto tell me anything of any stranger on the property, but I see nothinghere to be alarmed about. If the same gentleman calls again, let me knowinstantly. "

"Very good, madame. " And then, turning as though conferring upon me apart of his responsibility for the security of the premises: "It's aparty with a limp; just a trifling limp, sir; you'd hardly notice it. Itwas worse the last time as he ran away. A smallish man, rather dark, with a little mustache turned up at the ends. "

"I have noted all these details, Antoine, " I replied; and again Ithought there was a telegraphic exchange between the ladies, thoughthis time a black slipper was the means of communication. 

Torrence arrived in a moment, and nothing has ever given me keener joythan his shock of surprise at beholding Mrs. Bashford. As I introducedthe ladies he was so overcome that he greeted Mrs. Farnsworth as Mrs. Bashford--a not unnatural mistake--and there was an embarrassing momentas I set him right. Having done this, I seated myself beside Mrs. Farnsworth that Torrence might be free to talk business with my aunt. Iwas devoutly grateful that he had not been present at the dinner-table, for my own efforts to interest Torrence in anything but the mostpractical matters had always been highly unsuccessful, and thediscussion of ghosts and witches would hardly have amused him. As Mrs. Farnsworth and I took up the recent movements on the western front Ioverheard Torrence putting all the machinery of the trust company atMrs. Bashford's disposal. It seemed almost a blasphemy to be talking ofincome and like matters to a woman like Alice Bashford!

They continued their conference for some time, but I got nothing out ofMrs. Farnsworth that shed any light on my aunt's history beyond whatshe had told me herself, which was precious little. Mrs. Farnsworth'stalk was that of a cultivated woman. Her voice interested meunaccountably; the tones had all manner of shadings and inflections; itwas curiously musical, but in speaking of the great war a passionatenote crept into it that stirred me deeply. 

"This has been a dark year for Alice, " she remarked. "Mr. Bashford'sdeath, followed quickly by that of her brother--an only son--piled acruel burden of grief upon the dear child. She wants to go back toEngland to nurse the wounded, to do anything for our dear country, but Iwant to keep her here a little while until she can readjust herself. Youmust not think, Mr. Singleton, that she has no feeling; you have no ideaof the depths of that child's nature; they are unfathomable! It is mytask to encourage her in frivolity and the make-believe she loves--henceour absurdities at the table. She's the drollest child, but withwonderful understanding. And at times it's not easy to keep the divinespark of play alive in her heart. "

The light of one of the porch lamps fell upon Alice's face as shepatiently gave heed to Torrence's account of his stewardship. One of herhands gently stroked the terrier that lay quietly in a chair beside her. I was sure that his painstaking description of assets and market valueswas boring her. Once her voice rose in expostulation. Torrence, Ijudged, was suggesting that legal means could be found to expel the oldTyringham employees from the Barton property. 

"Oh, never in the world! It was quite like Mr. Bashford to want to carefor these people in their old age. And"--she laughed and turned towardme--"they can't be dislodged while Bob lives; and we don't want to partwith him just yet. "

I was glad to have him hear her address me in this intimate fashion. Torry always inspired in me a desire to shock him. He was trying toassure Alice that his only concern was to make her comfortable; hewished to save her from every annoyance and that sort of thing. 

"I shall help Alice to break them in, Torry, " I said, lingering upon hername for his special edification. 

"Of course, Singleton, " he replied. "I wasn't sure you meant to stay on. Pardon me, but I didn't----"

"Oh, it isn't that Bob hasn't a right to stay, " said Alice quickly;"Mrs. Farnsworth and I are hoping that he will like us well enough toshare our exile on other accounts. We are so unfamiliar with everythingAmerican that it would be most unkind for him to desert us. "

"I am engaging Mr. Singleton to explain American jokes to me, " announcedMrs. Farnsworth. "Alice seems to get them, but I'm never sure. "

It is a part of Torrence's business to counsel widows, which he doeslike the honorable man he is, but as he rose to go presently, remarkingthat his wife would motor down to call shortly, I caught a glimpse ofhis face that indicated deep perplexity. I wanted to warn him that AliceBashford was not an ordinary widow, who vexes officers of trustcompanies with foolish questions and is prone to overdraw her account, so I left when he did. 

"I want to talk to you, " he said nervously when we were outside. "I'llsend the car ahead to the gate. "

When the shrubbery cut us off from the house he stopped abruptly andseized my arm. "What do you make of it?" he demanded. 

"Make of what?" I asked. 

"That girl!" he exclaimed testily. 

"If you insist, I must avow that she's adorable, nothing else. "

"Don't be a fool! You knew Raymond Bashford much better than I did, andyou know perfectly well he never married a young girl of that sort!Those women are playing a trick, and I'm surprised that you don't seethrough it. "

"My uncle was a man of taste and a gentleman, " I answered deliberately. "There's nothing in the least improbable in his being infatuated with ayoung woman of charm and wit like this girl. And it is hardly profitableor decent to speculate as to her interest in him. You mustn't forgetthat Uncle Bash was an unusual man, a man with whom a young girl mighteasily fall in love without reference to his age or money or anythingelse. "

"I tell you it won't do, " he insisted. "If either of those women at thehouse is Raymond Bashford's widow, it's the one who calls herselfFarnsworth. "

"You did your best to convict them of fraud the first jump out of thebox, " I said, laughing at the recollection of his confusion when Iintroduced him. 

"My mistake was a natural one, " he said defensively. "They're playing agame of some kind and it's no laughing matter, but it won't take long tofind out what they're up to. "

"You'll hardly go the length of having them arrested as imposters, Torrence--not without some data to work on!"

"Certainly not. You seem to be hitting it off with both of them, but Iadvise you to be on guard. Are you sure your uncle never sent you hiswife's photograph? That would have been a perfectly natural thing todo. "

"If I'd got a photograph, I should have headed for Japan, not forFrance. " I laughed, but I was thinking deeply. His line of reasoning asto the incongruity of the marriage was not so different from my own thatI could sneer at his suspicions. Very convincingly, as became apractical-minded man, he expanded his views as to the unlikelihood of myuncle's marrying a girl but little beyond school age. I shrank fromtelling him that I didn't care a hang whether the widow was a fraud ornot. If the two women who had settled themselves on the Barton estatewere imposters, they were extraordinarily daring and clever. My attitudetoward them was wholly defensive. If women of their quality wereperpetrating a fraud, I was for giving them every chance, and I had nointention of allowing Torrence to spoil the unfolding of the conspiracy. 

We were nearing a gateway where his car waited, and I saw several of theguard hanging about at a discreet distance. "Look here, Singleton, " hesaid angrily, "you don't seem to take this business very seriously. Youdon't want to make the mistake of letting a pretty girl pull the woolover your eyes. If we're not careful, we're all of us likely to get intotrouble. " He lowered his voice and added tensely: "Those women are undersuspicion of something more serious than an attempt to rob an estate. An agent of the American State Department called on me yesterday andasked embarrassing questions about Mrs. Bashford. Not a Secret Serviceman, you understand, or anything of that kind, but an important man inthe State Department. "

"Of course you knew nothing to tell, " I suggested as he beat the walkimpatiently with his stick. 

"I took a chance at lying to him about her expected arrival. I thoughtit only decent to have a look at the woman first. He told me nothingexcept that the British Embassy had made inquiries and that the matterwas delicate and must be handled carefully. "

"Was this inquirer lame--a small dark man with a black mustache?" Iasked, suddenly interested. "Such a person has been hanging about here, so the boys tell me?"

"Not at all! I may as well tell you it was Raynor--you probably rememberhim. He's a specialist in international law, and they took him into theState Department just after the _Lusitania_ business. He's a gentlemanand a good fellow--I've played golf with him a good deal--and I hatedto lie to him. Of course, with the whole United States back of him hecan pursue his inquiries without my help; but I thought I'd see thiswoman before telling him she had reached America. "

I confess that I was a trifle dismayed by this. Raynor I knew slightly. Professionally and socially he stood high, and even without the prestigeof his official position he was not a chap to sneeze at; but I didn'twant Torrence to know I had any doubts as to the perfect authenticity ofmy uncle's widow. 

"Oh, every transcontinental pilgrim is probably scrutinized closelythese days, " I remarked carelessly. "Mrs. Bashford has lost a brother inthe war, and I haven't heard any one talk more bitterly against Germany. And her companion certainly has no illusions about the Kaiser. You'dhave to show me the proof to make me believe we're harboring spies. "

"I don't like the business, " he declared stubbornly. 

"Let's do nothing foolish, " I insisted. "If Raynor has reason to suspecteither or both of these women, we'll hear further from him. "

"I've put myself in a hole, " he said angrily. "Of course I've got toadvise him immediately that Mrs. Bashford is here. I promised to let himknow as soon as I heard from her. "

"Just wait a few days; I undertake to keep them under surveillance; youcan put the whole responsibility on me. If they attempt to leave, I'llwarn you and Raynor instantly, but they have settled themselves asthough they expected to spend the rest of their lives here. Rememberingyour visit the other night, you ought to be satisfied with the policingof the place!"

I told him of Mrs. Bashford's adventures in reaching the house withoutconvincing him that there was anything funny in her experiences, and heleft on my promise to report to him daily at a given hour and instantlyif anything unusual occurred. I waited for the guards to lock the gatesand bade them keep watch every night until further orders, and was on myway back through the grounds when Antoine arrested me. 

"Pardon me, but I'd like to ask what you think of it, sir?" he askedhoarsely, falling into step. 

"If you mean what do I think of Mrs. Bashford, " I replied sharply, "Ithink she's quite charming and delightful and all any one could ask inevery way. "

"It's her manner of speaking of spookish things, Mr. Singleton. Itdoesn't seem fitting in a widow and her so lately bereaved. And theolder lady's quite as bad, sir. The maids tell me they keep talking allday about fairies and pretending they're queens and such like, andtalking poetry to each other. "

"Quoting poetry is a harmless amusement, Antoine, and believing infairies and goblins is no crime. Such pastimes argue for sweetness andinnocence of character. "

"But the late master never indulged in such things, sir. "

"He would have lived longer if he had! It was probably the poetry andfairies that attracted him to Mrs. Bashford. "

"Yes, sir, " he acquiesced with a gulp. "I suppose you're right, sir. "

"You should be grateful to Mrs. Bashford for not bouncing you all forthe row you made last night. It could be done; in fact, Mr. Torrence hassuggested that legal means could be found for getting rid of you. "

"That would be very sad, sir, " he said humbly. 

"Isn't Mrs. Bashford kind to you? Hasn't she taken pains to make you allfeel at home?"

"Well, yes, sir. But she's taken Elsie back into the house, and there'sno work for her, there being two women in the laundry already; and she'stold me Dutch must be given his old place in charge of the poultry; andboth being Germans, you will recall. "

"It's just her kind heart, you idiot! You've all been spoiled; that'swhat's the matter with you. Elsie and Dutch are as law-abiding andhonest as the best of you. "

"It causes feeling; that's all, sir. "

"It needn't cause it if you brace up and act like a man, " I retorted. Then, sorry I had been so harsh, I added: "We must take good care ofMrs. Bashford, Antoine. It would be your old master's wish. It will dono harm to keep a guard at the house for the present in case yourmysterious stranger turns up again. "

He couldn't have failed to note my change of tone about the unknownvisitor, but he made no comment. 

"The guard's set, sir; front and rear. "

"While there's no danger whatever it's just as well to take no chances. Please tell the boys to send for me immediately at any hour of the nightif they see any prowlers about. "

"Very good, sir. But if you please, sir"--he had reached the garage andhe lingered, fingering his hat nervously--"if it wasn't for the ladiestalking about spirits, we'd all feel better, sir. It's creepy, sir, allthe talk about witches and ghosts, no matter what names you call 'emby. "

"You're far from being a fool, Antoine. Those ladies just play atbelieving in such rubbish. If they really believed in ghosts, you may besure they wouldn't talk about it at table before strangers like you andme. "

Though this seemed to impress him, a moment later, as I was drawing downthe shades in my bedroom, I saw him running across the lawn like afrightened rabbit. 

CHAPTER III

A FAN

The morning mail brought a letter from Searles acknowledging mycongratulations on his play. While my enthusiastic praise pleased him, he was very scornful of my suggestions about available stars, and seemedeven more depressed than when he talked to me. 

"It's impossible for me to plan other work. 'Lady Larkspur' ate the soulout of me. I'm done; finished, clean out of the running. There's onlythis to report. I had a letter from Dalton saying that some time ago heasked at the hotel where he sent the script of 'Lady Larkspur' to knowwhether Miss Dewing had sent a forwarding address. He had to see themanager before he got any satisfaction, but he did learn that heraccumulated mail had been called for by some one whose identity was notdisclosed. Of course this isn't much to hang a hope on, but if that playis what I think it is and Miss Violet Dewing ever reads it she's goingto jump for the telegraph office the moment she finishes the last act. Ihave no plans for returning East; the folks at home let me do as Iplease, and it's a relief to be in seclusion where I hear nothing of thedoings of Broadway. I hope your ancient globe-trotting aunt stilllingers in the Far East! Keep the ink flowing, son. That novel ought tobe well under way when I get back. "

The tale I had begun seemed utter trash in comparison with the story ofAlice Bashford, in which, much against my will, I had become a minorcharacter. I had rather prided myself on my ability to see through aplot in the first chapter of the most complicated mystery story, butthere were points in this unwritten tale that baffled me. 

I kept away from the house until dinnertime, when I was received quiteas an old friend by Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth. The table talk was ofCeltic poetry, and proved less disturbing to Antoine than the previousnight's discussion of ghosts. 

Their day had been spent, they explained, in a further examination of myuncle's Japanese loot, and they had taken a long walk beyond theestate's boundaries and were enthusiastic about the landscape. 

"It's so beautifully peaceful all about here, " Alice murmured. "I feelthat I never want to move again. "

"That's a real tribute to America, " Mrs. Farnsworth remarked; "for Alicedearly loves new scenes. She inherited a taste for travel from herfather, who put some new places on the maps, you know. "

I didn't know and I wanted to ask questions about Alice's father, but asthough anxious to frustrate such inquiries my aunt asked how close wewere to the place made famous by Israel Putnam's spectacular escape fromthe British. She had read the story and would motor to the scene, shedeclared. It was quite clear that there were chapters in her life thatwere not to be opened for my perusal. No sooner had I caught a glimpseof a promising page than the book was politely closed. A curtain hungbetween the immediate present at Barton-on-the-Sound and other scenesand incidents of the girl's life; and Mrs. Farnsworth was equallydetached from any tangible background. It seemed that I might meet themdaily for the rest of my life in this same friendly fashion withoutadding a particle to my knowledge of them. 

I became alert immediately when, as we rose from the table, Alice said, with the air of asking an unimportant favor:

"We were speaking last night of a man who has been asking for us here. His visits have alarmed the servants, but there is nothing to fear fromhim. You know"--she smiled at Mrs. Farnsworth--"it's rather he who seemsto fear us; that, at least, is our impression, though we have no ideawhy he should do so. Still, it's rather good fun to find yourself anobject of special attention and to be followed, even pursued. We've evenled him on a little, haven't we, Constance?"

Mrs. Farnsworth laughingly admitted that they had led the gentleman on atrifle, "but with all circumspection, " she protested. 

"We met him here and there in Tokyo, and later were surprised to findhim crossing on our steamer. We threw him off in the Canadian Rockies, where we stopped for a day, and eluded him in Chicago, where he wasevidently lying in wait for us. "

"Delightful!" I exclaimed. 

"But please don't get the idea that the man annoys us, " interposed Mrs. Farnsworth. 

"Far from it!" cried Alice. 

"You've seen enough of us perhaps to understand that we enjoy littleadventures, " said Mrs. Farnsworth. "The man pretends to be interested inMr. Bashford's art treasures. Antoine's story about the disguise israther against that; but we will give him the benefit of the doubt. Whatwe are hoping is that something really amusing may come of hispersistent pursuit. With you and the army of servants here we feelperfectly safe; so we're for giving him every chance to show his hand. "

"He is the Count Giuseppe Montani, " said my aunt, "who representshimself as a connoisseur--a lover of the beautiful. "

"The mystery is solved! It is easy to understand why he has haunted theplace. "

"Yes; quite easy. Count Montani is very anxious to see the porcelains. "

"I wasn't referring to the pottery; but I shan't press the matter. "

"I advise you not to; your remark was highly improper from a nephew toan aunt! I have told you about all I know of this Italian gentleman. Iam going to ask a favor. He telephoned from Stamford this afternoon toknow whether we had arrived, and I bade him call to-night. I should beglad if you would remain until he leaves. I should like to know what youmake of him. "

"Certainly, " I assented, pleased that she had taken me into herconfidence and deeply curious as to the Italian connoisseur. What shehad told so frankly and plausibly did not, however, touch upon thematter of the interest shown by the American State Department in myaunt's arrival at Barton, which troubled me much more than the antics ofthe Italian who had followed the women across the Pacific. 

Count Montani arrived shortly and was received in the drawing-room. Theladies greeted him with the greatest cordiality. As he crossed the roomI verified the limp and other points of Antoine's description. Hisbearing was that of a gentleman; and in his very correct evening dresshe hardly looked like a man who would disguise himself and attempt torob a house. He spoke English all but perfectly and proceeded at once totalk a great deal. 

"I was sad when I found I had so narrowly missed you at Seattle, andagain at Chicago. You travel far too rapidly for one of my age!"

His age might have been thirty. He was a suave, polished, sophisticatedperson. Nothing was more natural than that he should pause in histravels to call upon two agreeable women he had met on a Pacificsteamer. Possibly he was in love with Alice Bashford; this was not adifficult state of heart and mind for a man to argue himself into. Shewas even more strikingly beautiful to-night than I had thought herbefore. She was again in white--it was only in daytime that she woreblack--and white was exceedingly becoming to her. As we talked she pliedlistlessly a fan--a handsome trinket of ostrich plumes. A pretty womanand a fan are the happiest possible combination. There is no severertest of grace than a woman's manner of using a fan. A clumsy womanmakes an implement of this plaything, flourishing it to emphasize hertalk, or, what is worse, pointing with it like an instructor before ablackboard. But in graceful hands it is unobtrusive, a mere bit ofdecoration that teases and fascinates the beholder's eye. 

With all his poise and equanimity I was distinctly conscious thatMontani's dark eyes were intent upon the idly swaying fan. I thought atfirst it was her hands that interested him as they unfailinglyinterested me, but when, from time to time, she put down the fan hisgaze still followed it. And yet there was nothing novel in the delicatecombination of ivory and feathers. I had seen many fans that to allappearances were just like it. Once, as she picked it up and lazilyopened it, I saw him bend forward eagerly, then, finding that I hadnoted his eagerness, he rose, pretending that a brass screen before thefireplace had caught his eye and asked whether it was not a Florentineproduction, which shook my faith in his connoisseurship, as I had boughtthe thing myself from a New York brassworker who had made it to myorder. 

Montani spoke of the porcelains. "Oh, to be sure! They don't show tobest advantage in electric light, do they? But I can have a few of theprize pieces taken into the dining-room, " said Alice. 

Mrs. Farnsworth had excused herself to finish a letter, and from mychair I could see her head bent over the big desk in the library. Alicerang for Antoine, and I followed her into the hall to offer my aid. 

"Oh, don't trouble, " she said. "Antoine can do anything necessary. Yes;thanks; if you will turn on the dining-room lights. "

I was gone hardly half a minute. When I reached the drawing-room doorMontani had crossed the room to the table on which Alice had dropped thefan and was examining it closely. He faced the door, and the moment hedetected me exclaimed carelessly: "An exquisite little bauble! I amalways curious as to the source of such trifles. I was looking for themaker's imprimatur. I know a Parisian who is the leading manufacturer ofthe world. But it is not his, I see. "

As we stood talking of other things he plied the fan carelessly asthough for the pleasure of the faint scent it exhaled, and when Alicecalled us he put it down carefully where he had found it. 

He really did seem to know something about ceramics and praised, withlively enthusiasm, the pieces that had been set out on the table. Onepiece, as to whose authenticity my uncle had entertained serious doubts, Montani unhesitatingly pronounced genuine and stated very plausiblereasons for his opinion. 

On the whole, he was an interesting fellow. When he had finished hisinspections he lingered for only a few minutes and took his leave, saying that he was spending the night at an inn near Stamford. 

"Well, " said Alice when the whir of his machine had died away, "what doyou think of him?"

"A very agreeable gentleman, " I answered. "If he doesn't knowporcelains, he fakes his talk admirably. "

"And as to fans--" suggested Mrs. Farnsworth. 

I had not intended to mention Montani's interest in Alice's fan, and theremark surprised me. 

"Oh, I saw it all from the library, " laughed Mrs. Farnsworth. "My backwas to the door, but I was facing a mirror. The moment you and Alicewent into the hall he pounced upon the fan--pounced is the only wordthat describes it. He concealed his interest in it very neatly when youcaught him examining it. "

"Fans are harmless things, " said Alice, "and if there's any storyattached to this one I'm not aware of it. My father bought it in Parisabout three years ago, and it has never been out of my possession exceptto have it repaired. There's a Japanese jeweller who does wonderfulthings in the way of repairing trinkets of every kind. I left it withhim for a few days. I can't tell now which panel was broken, he did hiswork so deftly. "

I took it from her and balanced it in my fingers. It was a beautifulpiece of workmanship with the simplest carvings on the ivory panels. 

"He couldn't have seen it anywhere before to-night, " observed Alicemusingly. "In fact, I hadn't used it at all for a year. It was really bymistake that my maid put it into my trunk when I went to Japan. Ididn't want to risk breaking it again, so I've been carrying it in ahand-bag. The last day we were in Tokyo I think I had it in oursitting-room in the hotel, to make sure it wasn't jammed into the trunkagain. We had a good many callers--a number of people came in to bid usgood-by, but I'm sure Count Montani was not among them, and it wouldhave been impossible for him to see it at any other time. "

"Oh, there is nothing disturbing in the count's interest in the thing, "said Mrs. Farnsworth with an air of dismissing the matter. "If it were aJade trinket inscribed with Chinese mysteries, you might imagine that itwould be sought by some one--I have heard of such things--but Alice'sfan has no such history. "

"We weren't very hospitable, " said Alice. "I might have asked CountMontani to dine with us to-morrow; and we might even have put him up forthe night in this vast house. "

"Not with Antoine on the premises!" I exclaimed. "Antoine is convincedthat the man is what we call in America a crook. And Antoine takes hisresponsibilities very seriously. "

While I was breakfasting at the garage the next morning Antoine appearedand, waiting until Flynn was out of hearing, handed me a slip of paper. 

"That's a New York automobile number, " he said. "It was on the tag ofthat machine the party came in last night. I heard him saying, sir, ashow he had motored up from the Elkton Inn at Stamford. Visitors fromStamford would hardly send in to the city for a machine. "

I bade him wait while I called the Elkton by telephone. No such personas Giuseppe Montani had spent the night there or had been a guest of thehouse within the memory of the clerk. Antoine's chest swelled at thisconfirmation of his suspicions. 

"If the man returns, treat him as you did last night--as though he wereentitled to the highest consideration. "

"He won't come back--not the same way, " said Antoine. "He mentioned theElkton just to throw you off. The next you hear of him will be quitedifferent. "

"You mean he'll come as a burglar?"

"That's what's in my mind, Mr. Singleton. Everything seems very queer, sir. "

"Such as what, Antoine?"

"The widow has been telegraphing and telephoning considerable, sir. "

"There must be no spying upon these ladies!" I admonished severely. "Allthe people on the place must remember that Mrs. Bashford is mistresshere, and entitled to fullest respect. "

He had hardly gone before Torrence had me on the wire to hear my reportand to say that Raynor had left Washington for a weekend in Virginia. 

"That lets us out for a few days, but I'll have to report that Mrs. Bashford is at Barton the moment I learn that he is back in Washington. "

I assured him that nothing had occurred to encourage a suspicion thatMrs. Bashford was not all that she pretended to be. The day was markedby unusual activities on the part of the waiters and bell-hops. Insteadof the company drills to which I had become accustomed they moved aboutin pairs along the shore and the lines of the fences. I learned thatAntoine had ordered this, and the "troops" were obeying him with theutmost seriousness. The "service" on the estate was certainly abundant. It was only necessary to whistle and one of the Tyringham veterans wouldcome running. 

In spite of the complete satisfaction I had expressed to Torrence as tothe perfect integrity and honest intentions of the two women, thecuriosity of the American State Department and the visit of Montanirequired elucidation beyond my powers. At dinner they were in themerriest humor. The performances of the little army throughout the dayhad amused them greatly. 

"How delightfully feudal!" exclaimed Alice. "Really we should have amoat and drawbridge to make the thing perfect. Constance and I are thebest protected women in the world!"

We extracted all the fun possible from the idea that the estate wasunder siege; that Alice was the chatelaine of a beleaguered castle, andthat before help could reach us we were in danger of being starved outby the enemy. They called into play the poetry which had so rousedAntoine's apprehensions, and their talk bristled with quotations. Alicerose after the salad and repeated at least a page of Malory, and theKnights of the Round Table having thus been introduced, Mrs. Farnsworthrecited several sonorous passages from "The Idyls of the King. " Theyflung lines from Browning's "In a Balcony" at each other as though theywere improvising. The befuddlement of Antoine and the waiter whoassisted him added to the general joy. They undoubtedly thought the twowomen quite out of their heads, and it was plain that I suffered greatlyin Antoine's estimation by my encouragement of this frivolity. Mrs. Farnsworth walked majestically round the table and addressed to me thelines from Macbeth beginning:

 "Glamis thou art, and Cawdor; and shalt be What thou art promised, "

while Antoine clung to the sideboard listening with mouth open and eyesrolling. 

Later, in the living-room, Alice sang some old ballads. She was moreadorable than ever at the piano. It was a happiness beyond any in myexperience of women to watch her, to note the play of light upon hergolden head, to yield to the spell of her voice. Ballads had never beensung before with the charm and feeling she put into them; and afterending with "Douglas, Douglas, " she responded to my importunity with"Ben Bolt, " and then dashed into a sparkling thing of Chopin's, playedit brilliantly and rose, laughingly mocking my applause. 

I left the house like a man over whom an enchantment has been spoken andwas not pleased when Antoine blocked my path: "Pardon me, sir. "

"Bother my pardon; what's troubling you now?" I demanded. 

"It's nothing troubling me, sir; not particularly. If you give me time, I think I'll grow used to the poetry talk and playing at being queens. It's like children in a family I served once; an English family, mostrespectable. But in a widow, sir----"

"God knows we ought to be glad when grown-ups have the heart to play atbeing children and can get away with it as beautifully as those womendo! What else is on your mind?"

"It's about Elsie, sir. " I groaned at the mention of Flynn's Germanwife. "I'm sorry, sir; but I thought I should report it. It was a manwho came to see her this afternoon. You was out for your walk, and Flynnhad taken the ladies for a drive, so Elsie was alone at the garage. Thisperson rode in on the grocer's truck from the village, which is how hegot by the gate. As it happened, Pierre--he was a waiter at theTyringham, a Swiss, who understands German--had gone into the garage fora nap; he's quite old, sir, and has his snooze every afternoon. "

"He's entitled to it, " I remarked; "he must be a thousand years old. "

"From what he heard Pierre thought the man a spy, sir. He wanted Elsieto steal something from the house, it was a fan he wanted her to takemost particular, and it was to be done soon, to-day if she could manage. It was for the love of the Fatherland that he wanted her to do it. Didyou notice, sir, that Mrs. Bashford didn't have the fan to-night? Notthat one she carried last night. "

I had noticed that she had substituted a tiny Japanese fan for the onethat Montani had inspected so eagerly. When I spoke of the change shehad said the other was too precious for every-day use, and she meant tokeep it locked up. 

"I hate to bother you, sir, knowing you----"

The mention of the fan had brought me to an abrupt halt. I resentedhaving the thing thrust at me in the ecstatic mood in which I had leftthe house, but the visit of the German-speaking stranger was serious, and Antoine knew that his story had startled me. He told me further thatthe man had carefully outlined to Elsie just how she could takeadvantage of her freedom of the house to appropriate the fan when theladies were out and the servants off the second floor. She was to bepaid for her assistance; two hundred dollars had been promised; evenmore had been suggested. Elsie and the stranger had left the garage andpassed out of ear-shot before Elsie fully consented; but Pierre hadgiven Antoine the impression that she would make the attempt. 

"It was to be for the Kaiser, for Germany, " declared Antoine bitterly. "And she was to be careful about Flynn. I always thought Flynn wasstraight--I did indeed, sir!"

"I think Flynn and his wife are both honest, but we'll take no chance. Warn the guards to be on the alert. We don't want Elsie to get the ideathat she's being watched; so tell the men to keep away from the garage. I'll keep an eye on the Flynns. You go home and go to bed. .. . "

The deep calm of the country night had settled upon the shore, and theFlynns' quarters were perfectly tranquil. It didn't seem possible thatan international episode was in process of incubation in that quietneighborhood. I began to think that the general distrust of the Germanwoman by her associates might be responsible for Pierre's story. But, viewed in any light, I had a duty to perform. If Elsie had visited thehouse and purloined the fan, she would be very likely to get rid of itas quickly as possible, and I determined to keep watch. I drew theblinds, got into my dressing-gown and, reinforcing the lampshade with anewspaper to deaden the light, proceeded to read. 

It was on toward one o'clock and I was dozing when a sound roused me. Adoor on the Flynn side of the hall creaked; there was silence, then Iheard furtive steps on the stair. I snapped out my light and peered outof the window just as Elsie's robust figure disappeared into theshadows. I was about to follow when the creaking of the Flynn door wasrepeated. In a moment another peep through the shade showed me Flynnhimself, and he, too, quickly vanished. Here was a situation indeed! IfElsie was keeping tryst with her co-conspirator of the afternoon and herhusband was spying upon her, a row of large proportions was likely toresult at any moment. I leaned from the window as far as I dared, andsaw the woman close to the wall at the farther end of the building. Thescene was well set for trouble, and I was wondering what I could do toavert a disturbance and the exposure of the foolish woman when the wholematter was taken out of my hands. 

"You fool! You scoundrel!" she bellowed in German. "That you shouldthink me a plaything to commit a robbery for you! That I should stealfrom my mistress to satisfy you, you piece of swine-flesh!"

I had often heard Elsie vocally disciplining her Irish husband and knewthe power of her lungs and the vigor of her invective, but she seemedbent upon apprising the whole commonwealth of Connecticut of the factthat she was vastly displeased with the person she was addressing, whowas certainly not Flynn. Amid sounds of a scuffle and the continuousoutpouring of billingsgate the light over the garage door flashed onsuddenly and disclosed Flynn in the act of precipitating himself intothe fray. Elsie had grasped, and was stoutly clinging to a tall man whowas trying to free himself of her muscular embrace. Her cries meanwhileincluded some of the raciest terms in the German dictionary andothers--mouthfuls of frightfulness--that I didn't recognize. 

When I reached the open Flynn was dancing round the belligerents like anexcited boxer, occasionally springing in to land a blow; and all thewhile Elsie continued to address her captive and the world at large inher native tongue. Flynn was rather more than sixty, and Elsie was notmuch his junior, while the invader was young and agile. The man hadloosened one arm and drawn a revolver with which he was pounding Elsiein the face. I knocked the gun from his hand with my walking-stick andshouted to Elsie to let go of him. Her shouts had roused the guards and, hearing answering cries and the beat of hurrying feet on the walks, heredoubled his efforts to escape. I had hardly got my hands on him whenwith a twist of his body he wrenched himself free and sped away in thedarkness. 

I hadn't gone far in pursuit of him before I tripped over the skirts ofmy dressing-gown and fell into a bed of cannas. This would have beenless melancholy if Flynn, hard behind, hadn't stumbled over me and, believing he had captured the enemy, gripped my legs until I couldpersuade him to let go. 

The lights now flared on all the walks and driveways, and Antoine wasbellowing orders to the guards to surround the sunken garden. I surmisedthat the fugitive, surprised by the attack, had lost his bearings andwas now far from the boundary wall back of the garage from whichpresumably he had entered the grounds. With the Sound cutting off hisexit beyond the residence, there was a fair chance of catching him ifAntoine's veterans were at all vigilant. 

I found Antoine, armed with a club and swinging a lantern, majesticallyposed at the nearer entrance to the garden. With a swallow-tail coatover his night-shirt and his nightcap tipped over one ear, he was anenthralling figure. As he strode toward me his slippers flapped weirdlyupon the brick walk. "There's somebody in the garden, sir, " he whisperedhuskily. "The troops has it surrounded. " No general in all history, reporting in some critical hour the disposition of his army, could havebeen more composed. 

"You have done well, Antoine. Shall you dig in until morning or go overthe top now?"

"As you say, sir. It's better you should take charge. "

I walked round the garden and found his men well distributed, but theold fellows were exceedingly nervous. "It's a bit suspicious, sir, thathe broke for the garden, " remarked Antoine. 

"He broke for the garden, " I suggested, "because his line of retreat wascut off and he had to go somewhere. "

"It's queer, though, sir, when Dutch has been sleeping on the long benchdown there by the fountain. You know how we feel about him, sir, hebeing of that race. "

"Dutch told me he was camping in the tool-house, " I answered. 

"The boys drove him out, sir, and he took to the garden. "

"Nasty of the boys, I should say. If that interloper should murderhim----"

A yell rose from the midst of the garden, followed by a crash and aninstant later by a splash that interrupted another yell. I snatchedAntoine's lantern and ran down the steps toward the scene of commotion. When I reached the circular pool the jet was still playing gayly, butthe waters on one side were in furious agitation. Two men were rollingand tumbling about as though bent upon drowning each other. I swung thelantern over them just as Dutch got upon his feet, gripping hisantagonist by the collar. He flung him backward over the stone curbingof the pool and fell upon him in the walk with a swish of wet garments. The guards from the outer edges of the garden had clambered down andthey gathered about us as I began questioning Dutch. 

Dutch, undoubtedly enjoying his victorious encounter, was tearing openthe prostrate captive's collar to give him air and with his kneesclamping the man's body was disposed to delay the story of hisadventures to increase its dramatic effect. 

"It happens this evenin', " he began, spouting water, "that I seen Elsie, who's been sneakin' me meals to the old stables, an' she says to me:'Dutch, ' she says, 'they's all ag'in us here, callin' us Huns, an' wegotta show 'em we's good Americans, ' she says. An' she tole me a fellerbeen to see 'er 'at wanted 'er to rob the house fer 'im, he thinkin' 'erlikely to do ut fer love o' the Kaiser. She said as 'ow she'd nail 'imwhen he comes to-night to git a fan she's promised to lift fer 'im. Shesaid that'd prove she wasn't no Dutchwoman and recommended if I got thechance to do the same. I thought nothin' wuz goin' to happen an' wuzsleepin' on me bench here in the garden when the hollerin' at the garagewoke me up. I sits quiet, listenin' an' this guy drops into the gardenan' wuz crawlin' past me bench an' I pinches 'im. He wuz fer havin' afight, an' we knocks over one of the big urns an' lit in the tank. Hesays it's a thousand bones an' ye turn me loose, he says, an' I soused'im ag'in fer that. "

The man was still choking from the sousings and Dutch turned him overand pounded him vigorously on the back, assisted by Zimmerman, theobliging valet, who had seized the occasion to show his hand on the sideof the Allies. "Shall I telephone for the Barton police, sir?" askedAntoine with an extreme exaggeration of his professional manner. 

This obviously was the thing to do, but I feigned not to hear thequestion while I debated the matter. It was plain that many thingsrelating to the capture were veiled in mystery: that if Mrs. Bashfordand her companion were involved in an international tangle and had intheir possession something that vitally concerned the nations at war, common chivalry demanded that I handle the arrest of Montani's agent insuch manner as to shield them. I was thinking hard and in my perplexityeven considered sending a messenger for Torrence; but he was alreadysuspicious and would be very likely to summon Raynor immediately andprecipitate a crisis I was not prepared to face. To invite the attentionof the American State Department to the increasingly complex situationwould not be giving my aunt the chance I meant she should have to clearherself. 

The captive had got upon his feet and stood dazedly staring at us. Herefused to answer my questions, even when I suggested that if he couldgive a satisfactory account of himself he would be released. He onlydoggedly shook his head. When I asked if he had been hurt in his boutwith Dutch he smiled and extended his arms in denial. He was a verydecent-looking fellow, blue-eyed and smooth-shaven, who seemed to accepthis plight with a degree of good humor. 

I decided that as nothing would be gained by sending him to the Bartoncalaboose that night, I would assume the responsibility of detaininghim until I had groped my way through the haze of suspicions andcircumstances that enveloped him. 

"Get some dry clothes for this man and lock him up in the tool-house. Besure he has blankets, and you'd better give him some hot coffee. "

The captive manifested relief at my decision and broke his silence tothank me, which he did in very good English. His submissiveness onlydeepened my perplexity, but I couldn't help laughing as he walked awaysurrounded by the "troops, " with Dutch leading the way--Dutch fullyconscious that he had vindicated himself and disposed to be ratherdisdainful of his comrades. 

I hurried to the house, where I found Alice and Mrs. Farnsworthministering to Elsie, who had been taken there by their order. Elsie, sharing with Dutch the honors of the night, lay on a davenport, whereshe had received first aid. Alice rose from her knees as I entered, gathering up strips of bandages, and turned to me laughingly. 

"Elsie's injuries are not serious; only disagreeable bruises in theface. There will be no scars, I'm sure. We'll keep her at the house fora few days until she's quite fit again. Surely any one who hasquestioned Elsie's loyalty ought to be satisfied now. "

"You certainly managed it very cleverly, Elsie. We're all verygrateful. "

Elsie, her face covered with bandages, acknowledged my thanks bywiggling her foot. 

Mrs. Farnsworth said she would put Elsie to bed. Now, I thought, Alicewould make some sign if she knew anything that would explain Montani andthe prisoner in the tool-house. But the whole affair only moved her tolaughter and she seemed less a grown woman than ever in her white robe. My efforts to impress her with the seriousness of the attempt to securethe fan only added to her delight. 

"How droll! How very droll! You couldn't possibly have arranged anythingthat would please me more! It's delicious! As you say in America, it'sperfectly killing!"

I suggested that the holding of a prisoner without process of law mightpresent embarrassments. 

"I know, " she cried, clapping her hands joyfully. "You mean we arelikely to bump into dear old _habeas corpus_! The sheriff will come andread a solemn paper to you and you will have to hie you to court andproduce the body of the prisoner. That will be splendid!"

"It won't be so funny if----"

I was about to say that the humor of the thing would be spoiled somewhatif she were made a witness and there proved to be something irregularabout the fan which had caused all the trouble, but I hadn't the heartto do it. To spoil such merriment as bubbled in her heart would becruel--an atrocity as base as snatching a plaything from a joyous child. 

"Constance and I so love the unusual--and it is so hard to find!" shecontinued. "And yet from the moment I reached the gates of thesepremises things have happened! Nothing is omitted! Strange visitors;fierce attacks upon our guards, and still the mystery deepens in the weesma' hours, with heroes and heroines at every turn! To think that thatabsurd little Dutch was asleep in the garden and really captured thespy or whatever he is! But you are a hero too! You shall be decorated!"

She walked to a stand and pondered a moment before a vase of roses, chose a long-stemmed red one and struck me lightly across the shoulderwith it. 

"Arise, sir knight! You should have knelt, but to kneel in skirtsrequires practice; you could hardly have managed in that monk's robe. "

I couldn't be sure whether she was mocking me or whether there wasreally liking under this nonsense. I was beyond the point of beingimpatient with her. I was helpless in her hands; she would do with me asshe willed, and it was my business to laugh with her, to meet her asbest I could in the realm of folly. 

"You must go!" she exclaimed suddenly. "Constance will be calling downthe stairs for me in a moment. "

"To-morrow--" I began. The wistful look she had at times came into hereyes as she stood in the centre of the room, playing with the flower. 

"To-morrow, " she repeated, "and then--to-morrow!"

"There must be endless to-morrows for you and me, " I said, and took theflower from her hand. The revery died in her eyes, and they were awakewith reproach and dismissal. At the door I looked back. She hadn't movedand she said, very quietly, but smiling a little: "Nothing must happento make me sorry I came. Please remember!"

CHAPTER IV

PURSUING KNIGHTS

I didn't sleep until near daybreak, and was aroused at nine o'clock byFlynn, who appeared at the door in his chauffeur's togs, carrying atray. 

"The wife didn't come back, sorr, but I made coffee and toast. Sorry towaken you, but I'm takin' the new car into the city. "

I sat up and rubbed my eyes. 

"Who's going to the city?" I demanded. 

"The ladies is goin' at once, sorr. They sent orders an hour ago to beready with the new machine. Orders was to take my bag; it looks like I'dbe gone the night. I'm late and you'll have to excuse me, sorr. "

I sprang out of bed and plied him with questions, most of which he wasunable to answer. I did, however, extract from him the information thatnothing had occurred after I retired for the night that could havealarmed the women at the residence and prompted this abrupt departure. There was no reason why Alice shouldn't run to town if it pleased her todo so, and yet it was odd that she hadn't mentioned the matter. Flynnhurried away, and from the window I followed the car's course to thehouse, and a moment later caught a glimpse of it on its way to thegates. 

I was shaving when Antoine appeared, pale from the stirring incidents ofthe night. 

"I suppose you know, sir, " he said, straightening the coffee-pot on thetray in an attempt to conceal his emotions. 

"When did you first hear that the ladies meant to leave to-day?" Ishouted with a flourish of the razor. "If you knew it last night anddidn't tell me----"

"I heard it, incidental-like, at breakfast this morning. There was anight letter, sir, read by the agent at Barton to the mistress quiteearly, sir. I can't tell you what it was, sir. "

"Did they seem alarmed or depressed; was there anything to indicatewhether they had bad news?"

"They seemed quite merry over it, sir. But you know their goings-on, which I never understand, sir. For all I know it may be a death in thefamily; you'd never tell it from their actions. You will pardon me forremarking it again, sir; but, considering that they're ladies, theiractions and goings-on is most peculiar. "

"As to luggage, I hope you had the intelligence to note whether theywent for a long stay?"

"Only the suitcases that fits into the rack of the machine. Louisethought they might be going for a week, maybe. "

This was all I got out of him. Mrs. Bashford and Mrs. Farnsworth hadflown, giving no hint of the length of their absence. They had slippedaway and left me with a prisoner that I didn't know what to do with;with an inquiry by the American Department of State hanging over me;with Torrence to reckon with, and, in general, a muddled head that onlya vast number of lucid explanations could restore to sanity. 

I called from the window to one of the gardeners who knew how to managea machine and told him to be ready to drive me to the village in halfan hour. There was an express at ten-forty, and by taking it I would atleast have the satisfaction of being somewhere in New York when therunaways arrived. Antoine packed my suitcase; I am not sure that hedidn't shed tears on my belongings. The old fellow was awed into silenceby the rapidity with which history had been made in the past twenty-fourhours, and clearly was not pleased by my desertion. 

We drove past the tool-house, where I found the prisoner seated on awheelbarrow smoking a cigarette. He was no more communicative than whenI had questioned him after his capture. He smiled in a bored fashionwhen I asked if he wanted anything, and said he would be obliged forcigarettes and reading-matter. He volunteered nothing as to hisidentity, and the guards said that a thorough search of the captive'sclothing had disclosed nothing incriminating. He had three hundreddollars in currency (this was to cover Elsie's bribe money, Iconjectured), a handkerchief, a cigarette-case, and a box of matches. Idirected that he be well fed and given all the reading-matter hewanted, and hurried on to catch my train. 

The futility of my errand struck me hard as I felt the city surginground me. Without a clew to work on, I was utterly unlikely to find thetwo women, and even if I should stumble upon them, in what way could Iexplain my conduct in following them? I was visited also by thediscouraging thought that New York might not, after all, be theirdestination. 

Flynn was a capable but cautious driver, and they would hardly reachtown before five o'clock. I took a room at the Thackeray Club andpondered carefully whether, in spite of my misgivings, I hadn't bettersee Torrence and tell him all that had happened since his call on Mrs. Bashford. If there was any chance of doing the wrong thing in any matternot prescribed in the laws governing the administration of estates, hewould be sure to do it; but I was far from satisfied with the results ofmy own management of affairs at Barton. I finally called up the trustcompany and learned that Torrence was in Albany attending the trial of awill case and might not be in town for a couple of days. His secretarysaid he had instructions to wire my daily report to Albany. I told himthere had been no developments at Barton, and went out and walked theAvenue. Inquiries at hotels large and small occupied me until seveno'clock. No one had heard of a Mrs. Bashford or a Mrs. Farnsworth. Myinspection of the occupants of several thousand automobiles provedequally fruitless. I ate a lonely dinner at the club and resumed mysearch. Hanging about theatre doors, staring at the crowd, is not adignified occupation, and by nine o'clock, having seen the most belatedtheatre-goers vanish, I was tired and footsore. The flaming sign ofSearles's "Who Killed Cock Robin?" over the door of the "As You Like It"caught my eye. I bought a seat--the last in the rack--and squeezed intomy place in the middle of the last row. As I had seen the piece at leasta dozen times, its novelty was gone for me, but the laughter of thedelighted audience was cheering. The first act was reaching itsculmination, and I watched it with a glow of pride in Searles and hisskilful craftsmanship. 

As the curtain fell and the lights went up amid murmurs of pleasure andexpectancy, I glanced across the rows of heads with awakened interest. "Who Killed Cock Robin?" had been praised with such unanimity that ifAlice were in any playhouse that night I was as likely to see her in the"As You Like It" as anywhere. 

The half-turned face of a man three rows in front of me suddenly caughtmy attention. There was something curiously familiar in his outlines andthe gesture with which, at the moment, he was drawing his handkerchiefacross his forehead. I judged that he too had come late, for he nowremoved his topcoat and thrust his hat under the seat. It wasMontani--beyond any question Montani--and I instinctively shrank in myseat and lifted my programme as he turned round and swiftly surveyed therows behind him. 

I watched his black head intently until I remembered the superstitionthat by staring at a person in a public place you can make him look atyou. Montani knew a great many things I wanted to know, but I must havetime to adjust myself to the shock of his propinquity. I satisfiedmyself that he was alone and as he continued to mop his face I judgedthat he had arrived in some haste. The house now took note of a stirringin one of the boxes. There was an excited buzz as the tall form andunmistakable features of Cecil Arrowsmith, the English actor, wererecognized. I had read that day of his arrival in New York. With himwere two women. My breath came hard and I clutched the iron frame of theseat in front of me so violently that its occupant turned and glared. 

The trio settled into their places quickly, but not before I hadsatisfied myself that Arrowsmith's companions were Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth. As they fell into animated talk I saw that Alice was in hergayest humor. The distinguished tragedian seemed greatly amused by whatshe was saying to him. 

"Must be members of Arrowsmith's company, " one of my neighbors remarked. "They open in two weeks in Shakespearian repertoire. "

Montani had half risen, the better to focus an opera-glass on the box. The gong solemnly announced the second act, and Alice moved her chair toface the stage. Once more Montani scanned the party with his glass. Asthe lights faded Alice, with the pretty languorous gesture I so wellremembered, opened her fan--the fan of ostrich plumes, that became ablur of white that held my eye through the dusk after the curtain rose. 

Alice, Montani, and the fan! To this combination I had now to add thenew element introduced into the situation by the apparent familiaracquaintance of Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth with Cecil Arrowsmith. Andyet, as the play proceeded on its swift-moving course, I reasoned thatthere was nothing extraordinary in their knowing the eminent actor. Hehad long been a personage in England and had lately been knighted. Theirappearance with him at the theatre really disposed of the idea that theymight be impostors. The presence of Arrowsmith had put zest into thecompany, and I hadn't seen a better performance of Searles's play. Thetrio in the box joined in the prolonged applause at the end of the act. 

As they resumed their talk Alice, it seemed, was relating something ofmoment for Arrowsmith's benefit, referring now and then to Mrs. Farnsworth as though for corroboration. The scene in the box was almostas interesting as any in the play, and the audience watched with deepabsorption. Alice, the least self-conscious of mortals, was, I knew, utterly unaware of the curious gaze of the house; whatever she wassaying with an occasional gesture of her gloved hands or a shrug of hershoulders possessed her completely. I thought she might be tellingArrowsmith of her adventures at Barton; but the length of her narrativewas against this, and Arrowsmith's attitude was more that of a criticappealed to for an opinion than of a polite listener to a story. Henodded his head several times, and finally, as Alice, with a slight dipof the head and an outward movement of her arms, settled back in herchair, he patted his hands approvingly. 

In my absorption I had forgotten Montani's existence, but as the thirdact began I saw that he had gone. Whether I should put myself in Alice'sway as she left the theatre was still an undetermined question when theplay ended. With Montani hanging about I felt a certain obligation towarn her that he had been watching her. I was among the first to leave, and in the foyer I met Forsythe, the house manager, who knew me as afriend of Searles. 

"You notice that we're still turning 'em away, " he remarked. "We don'thave to worry about this piece; everybody who sees it sends his friendsthe next day. Searles hasn't looked in for some time; hope he's writinga new play?"

"He's West visiting his folks. Don't know when he'll be back, " Ianswered. "I must write him that Sir Cecil Arrowsmith enjoyed 'WhoKilled Cock Robin?' just as much as common mortals. "

Forsythe had paused at the box-office, and in my uncertainty I stuck tohim as the crowd began to surge by. 

Arrowsmith's approach was advertised by the peculiar type of tall hatthat he affected, and the departing audience made way for him, or hungback to stare. At his left were Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth, and they mustpass quite close to me. "Who Killed Cock Robin?" was a satisfying playthat sent audiences away with lightened hearts and smiling faces, andthe trio were no exception to the rule. 

Listening inattentively to Forsythe, I was planning to join Alice whenthe trio should reach me. She saw me; there was a fleeting flash ofrecognition in her eyes, and then she turned toward Arrowsmith. She drewnearer; her gaze met mine squarely, but now without a sign to indicatethat she had ever seen me before. She passed on, talking with greatestanimation to Arrowsmith. 

"Well, remember me to Searles if you write him, " I heard Forsythesaying. I clutched his arm as he opened the office door. 

"Who are those women?" I demanded. 

"You may search me! I see you have a good eye. That girl's rather niceto look at!"

Crowding my way to the open, I blocked the path of orderly, sanecitizens awaiting their machines until a policeman pushed me aside. Alice I saw for a bewildering instant, framed in the window of a biglimousine that rolled away up-town. 

I had been snubbed! No snub had ever been delivered more deliberately, with a nicer calculation of effect, than that administered to me byAlice Bashford--a girl with whom, until a moment before, I had believedmyself on terms of cordial comradeship. She had cut me; Alice who hadasked me at the very beginning of our acquaintance to call her by herfirst name--Alice had cut me without the quiver of a lash. 

I walked to the Thackeray and settled myself in a dark corner of thereading-room, thoroughly bruised in spirit. In my resentment I meditatedflying to Ohio to join Searles, always my chief resource in trouble. Affairs at Barton might go to the devil. If Alice and her companionwanted to get rid of me, I would not be sorry to be relieved of theresponsibility I had assumed in trying to protect them. With rising furyI reflected that by the time they had shaken off Montani and got rid ofthe prisoner in the tool-house they would think better of me. 

"Telephone call, sir. "

I followed the boy to the booth in a rage that any one should disturb mygloomy reflections. 

"Mr. Singleton? Oh! This is Alice speaking----"

I clutched the shelf for support. Not only was it Alice speaking, but inthe kindest voice imaginable. My anger passed, but my amazement at Aliceand all her ways blinded me. If she had suddenly stepped through thewall, my surprise could not have been greater. 

"You told me the Thackeray was your usual refuge in town, so I thoughtI'd try it. Are you very, very cross? I'm sorry, really I am--Bob!"

The "Bob" was added lingeringly, propitiatingly. Huddled in the booth, Idoubted my senses--wondering indeed whether Alice hadn't a double--evenwhether I hadn't dreamed everything that had occurred at Barton. 

"I _wanted_ to speak to you ever so much at the theatre, but I couldn'tvery well without introducing you to Sir Cecil, and I wasn't ready to dothat. It might have caused complications. "

If anything could have multiplied the existing complications, I wasanxious to know what they were; but her voice was so gentle, so whollyamiable, that I restrained an impulse to demand explanations. 

"Are you on earth or are you speaking from paradise?" I asked. 

"Oh, we're in a very nice house, Constance and I; and we're just abouthaving a little supper. I wish you were here, but that can't bearranged. No; really it can't! We shall be motoring back to Bartonto-morrow and hope you can join us. Let us have luncheon and motor uptogether. "

When I suggested that I call for them she laughed gayly. 

"That would be telling things! And we mustn't spoil everything wheneverything is going so beautifully. "

Remembering the man I had locked up in the tool-house and theexplanations I should have to make sooner or later to the unimaginativeTorrence, I wasn't wholly convinced of the general beauty of theprospect. 

"Montani was in the theatre, " I suggested. 

Her laughter rippled merrily over the wire. "Oh, he tried to follow usin a taxi! We had a great time throwing him off in the park. I'm notsure he isn't sitting on the curb right now watching the houseungraciously. "

"You have the fan with you; Montani jumped right out of his seat whenyou opened it in the theatre. "

This she received with more laughter; Montani amused her immensely, shesaid. She wasn't in the least afraid of him. Returning to the matter ofthe luncheon, she suggested the Tyringham. 

"You know, I want very much to see Mr. Bashford's old home and the placeall our veteran retainers came from. At one?--yes. Good night!" . .. 

Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth reached the Tyringham on time to the minute. As I had spent the morning on a bench in the park, analyzing myproblems, I found their good humor a trifle jarring. 

"You don't seem a bit glad to see us, " Alice complained as she drew offher gloves. "How can any one be anything but happy after seeing thatdelicious 'Cock Robin'! It is so deliciously droll. "

"I haven't, " I remarked with an attempt at severity, "quite your knackof ignoring disagreeable facts. There was Montani right in front of me, jumping like a jack-in-the-box every time you flourished your fan. There's that fellow we've got locked up at Barton----"

"Just hear the man, Constance!" she interrupted with her adorable laugh. "We were thinking that he was beginning to see things our way, the onlytrue way, the jolly way, and here he cometh like a melancholy Jaques!We'll have none of it!"

"We must confess, " said Mrs. Farnsworth conciliatingly, "that Mr. Singleton is passing through a severe trial. We precipitated ourselvesupon him without warning, and immediately involved him in a mesh ofmystery. His imagination must have time to adjust itself. "

"Ah, the imagination!" sighed Alice with her wistful smile. "How littlepatience the world has with anything but the soberest facts! Why shouldwe bother about that lunatic Montani or the gentleman immured in thetool-house? I couldn't introduce you to Sir Cecil without anticipatingthe end of our story; and I want you to keep wondering and wonderingabout us. It's all so jolly! I love it all! And really you wouldn'tspoil it, Bob! It's dreadful to spoil things. "

They were spoiling my appetite; I was perfectly aware of that. I hadordered the best luncheon I knew how to compose, and they were doingfull justice to it; but I was acting, I knew, like a resentful boy. 

"I love you that way, " said Alice as I stared vacantly at my plate. "Butyou really are not making yourself disagreeable to us--really he is not, Constance!"

Mrs. Farnsworth affirmed this. I knew that I was merely being rude, andthe consciousness of this was not uplifting. At the luncheon hour theinflux of shoppers gives the Tyringham a cheery tone, and all about uswere people apparently conversing sanely and happily. The appearance ofUncle Bash's ghost in the familiar dining-room would have been a welcomediversion. I was speculating as to just what he would say about hiswidow and the whole mess at Barton when Mrs. Farnsworth addressed mepleadingly. 

"If you knew that we want you to play with us only a few dayslonger--three days, shall we say, Alice?--if you knew that then we'lluntangle everything, wouldn't you be nice--very nice?"

In spite of myself I couldn't resist this appeal. I was more and moreimpressed by the fineness, the charm of Mrs. Farnsworth. When shedropped the make-believe foolishness in which she indulged quite asamusingly as Alice, she appeared to be a very sensible person. The humordanced in her eyes now, but her glance was more than an appeal; it was acommand. 

"If you knew that our troubles are not at all the troubles you'rethinking about, but very different----"

"Please pardon me!" I muttered humbly, and wished that Alice were not sobewitching in a sailor hat. It may have been the hat or only Mrs. Farnsworth's pleading tone that brought me to a friendlier attitudetoward the universe and its visible inhabitants. The crowd thinned out, but we lingered, talking of all manner of things. 

"We must come in again very soon, " said Alice. "And next time we shan'trun away, which was very naughty. I suppose when you begin a story youjust have to keep it going or it will die on your hands. That's the waywith our story, you know. Of course it's unkind to mystify you: but youare in the story just as we are. "

My mystification was certainly deep enough without this suggestion thatI was a mere character in a tale whose awkward beginning aroused onlythe gravest apprehensions as to the conclusion. She looked at her watchand continued:

"I'm so absurd--really I am, in ever so many ways, that no one wouldever put me in a book. Every one would say no such person ever existed!It's incredible! And so I have to pretend I'm in a story all the time. It's the only way I can keep happy. And so many people are in my storynow, not only Montani and the poor fellow locked up at Barton--oh, whatif he should escape! Constance, it would be splendid if he shouldescape!"

"I don't think it would be splendid if he escaped!" I exclaimed, sittingup very straight at the bare thought of such a calamity. "He wouldeither kill me or sue me for damages. "

"Oh, that wouldn't fit into the story at all! Murder and damages are sofrightfully sordid and generally disagreeable. We must have nothinglike that in our story. "

"You didn't finish your enumeration of characters, " I suggested. "Is mypart an important one or am I only a lay figure?"

"My dear boy, " cried Mrs. Farnsworth, "you are the hero! You have beenthe hero from the hour the story began. If you should desert us now, whatever should we do!"

"If I'm the hero, " I replied in her own key, "I shall begin making loveto Alice at once. "

Alice, far from being disturbed by my declaration, nodded her headapprovingly. 

"Oh, we had expected that! But you needn't be in a hurry. In a storylike this one, that runs right on from day to day, we must leave a lotto chance. And there are ever so many chances----"

"Not all on the side of failure, I hope?"

"We _must_ be going. " She laughed. I wished she hadn't thatcharacteristic little turn of the head that was so beguiling!

Folly rode with us all the way to Barton. If anything sensible wasuttered on the drive, I can't recall it. Our talk, chiefly of knightsand ladies, and wild flights from imaginary enemies, had the effect ofspurring Flynn to perilous spurts of speed. 

"Flynn has caught the spirit!" cried Alice exultingly. "Haven't you, Flynn?"

Flynn, turning to confirm this, caused the car to swerve and graze atruck piled high with household goods. 

"We may elude the pursuing knights, " I suggested, "but some villageconstable may take it into his head to pinch us. "

"Oh, that would be lovely, " cried Alice. "And we'd telegraph dear Mr. Torrence to come and bail us out. "

We reached Barton at nine o'clock and after an informal supper Ilistened to Antoine's solemn reports as I walked to the garage. Theprisoner had made no sign, he said, and nothing had occurred during theday. 

"But there's this, Mr. Singleton, which you ought to know, sir. The oldTyringham people don't like the goings on here. You'll admit it's allmighty queer. I don't complain, sir, but some of the boys threatens toleave, sir. And I look at it this way, that nobody understanding whatthe spying and bribes offered and taking prisoners is all about, is mostpeculiar. We got to know where we stand, that's what it's come to, sir. And the widow being flighty-like and Flynn coming home and sayingnothing, but shaking his head when we ask him where he's been--You seefor yourself, sir, how it looks to us. "

What he said as to the general aspect of things was true, but I didn'tadmit that it was true. Alice had converted me to the notion that I wasa character in a story, a plaything of fate, and I lightly brushed asideAntoine's melancholy plaint. 

"Any man of you, " I said, "who leaves this property will be brought backand shot. Tell that to the boys!"

Nevertheless, the perfect equanimity of the gentleman in the tool-housewhen I visited him the next morning shook my faith a trifle in thestory-book features of life at Barton. He was an exemplary prisoner, theguards reported, and he had maintained the strictest silence in myabsence. He ate, smoked, and read, courteously thanking the men fortheir attentions, and that was all. When I showed myself at the windowhe rose and threw down the magazine he was reading and repliedgood-naturedly to my inquiry as to how he was getting along. 

"I have no complaint except that the guards snore outrageously. The poorold chaps will sleep, you know. "

"If you're so badly guarded, why don't you escape?" I asked tartly. 

"It would relieve your mind a lot if I should disappear?" he askedinsinuatingly. 

"You are impertinent, " I replied, irritated that he should have surmisedthat his presence was causing me uneasiness. "If you will come to yoursenses and tell me the meaning of your visits here, we may agree uponterms. As it stands, you're a trespasser; you tried to bribe a servantto rob the house. If you're at all familiar with criminal law in thiscountry, you can estimate the number of years' imprisonment that will behanded you for these little indiscretions. "

"If it's all so plain, why don't you hand me over to the authorities?"he asked, provokingly cool. 

"I'm giving you a chance to confess and tell who's back of all this. Tell me just why your confederate Montani is annoying Mrs. Bashford, andI'll turn you loose. "

"Perhaps, my dear sir, the motive that impels you to detain meunlawfully is the same that enjoins silence upon me! Please considerthat a little. "

I replied that I would consider nothing short of a confession. In amatch of wits he was fully my equal, and in the mastery of his temper hecertainly had the best of me. 

"If you wait for me to confess anything, you will wait forever, " hereplied. "I repeat that we are impelled by the same motives, you and I. I think I needn't enlighten you as to what they are. "

"I shall be glad to hear your idea of my motives, " I answered feebly. 

"I shall be frank, " he replied readily. "The reason you don't turn meover to the police is the very simple one that you don't want toembarrass the mistress of the house yonder by causing the light ofpublicity to beat upon her very charming head. You wish to save herannoyance, and possibly something much graver. I can see that you areimpressed; but it ought to please you to know that I share your feelingof delicacy where she is concerned. And let me add that the CountMontani is animated by like feeling. So there we are, exactly on thesame ground!"

"You haven't answered my questions!" I blustered to hide my annoyance atbeing thrust further into the dark. "You don't understand Mrs. Bashford, " I went on hurriedly. "It is inconceivable that any one shouldwish to injure her or that she could have committed any act that wouldcause her to be spied upon. She's tremendously imaginative; she indulgesin little fancies that are a part of her charm!"

"Little fancies!" he repeated, hiding a yawn. "It's deplorable for apretty woman to have an imagination; there's danger there!"

"Your philosophy bores me, " I said, and left him. He had lied about thesnoring of the guards--Antoine satisfied me of that--but I gaveinstructions to double the watch. 

CHAPTER V

ALICE

I wanted to be alone and struck off for a wood that lay on the northernend of the estate. This was the most picturesque spot on the property, awild confusion of trees and boulders. On a summit in the midst of itUncle Bash had built a platform round a majestic pine from which to viewthe Sound. I mounted the ladder and was brushing the dead leaves fromthe bench when, somewhere below me and farther on, I heard voices. 

I flattened myself on the platform, listening intently. A stiff breezefrom the Sound flung the voices clearly to my hiding-place, and I becameaware that Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth were holding a colloquy in whatseemed to be the vein of their whimsical make-believe. That they shouldbe doing this in the depth of the woodland merely for their ownamusement did not surprise me--nothing they could have done would haveastonished me--but the tone of their talk changed abruptly. 

"Try it from that boulder there, Alice, " said Mrs. Farnsworth. "It's anideal place, created for the very purpose. "

I could see them moving about and hear the swish of shrubbery and thescraping of their feet on the rough slope. 

"How will that do?" asked Alice. 

"Beautifully, " replied Mrs. Farnsworth. "Now go ahead from the beginningof the scene. "

Cautiously drawing back the branches, I espied Alice striking a pose ona mammoth rock. She bent forward, clasping her knees, and with anoccasional glance at what appeared to be an open book beside her, shebegan:

"You ask me who I am, my lord? It matters not at all who or what I am;let it suffice that berries are my food and the brook that sings behindme gives me drink. To be one thing or another is a weariness. Would youask yonder oak for a name, or trouble the wind with like foolishquestions? No; it is enough that a tree is strong and fine to look uponand that a wind has healing in its wings. "

With her head to one side and an arresting gesture, and throwing intoher voice all its charm and a new compelling innocence and sweetness, she continued:

"But you would have a name? Then, O foolish one, so much I will tellyou: Yesterday I was Helen, who launched a thousand ships and shook thetopless towers of Ilium. To-day I am Rosalind in the forest of Arden, and to-morrow I may be Antigone, or Ariel or Viola, or what you will. Iam what I make myself or choose to be. I pray you, let that suffice. "

My face was wet with perspiration, and my heart thumped wildly. Foreither I was stark, staring mad, or these were lines from Searles's"Lady Larkspur, " the manuscript of which was carefully locked in mytrunk. 

"That should be spoken a trifle more slowly, and with the best air ofunpremeditatedness you can put into it, " Mrs. Farnsworth was saying. "You can work it out better when you've memorized the lines. It'simmensely effective having the last scene come back to the big boulderon the mountainside. Let me look at that a minute. "

She took up the manuscript--there was no question of the blue cover ofmy copy of "Lady Larkspur"--and turned to the passage she sought. 

"Let me read this over, " Mrs. Farnsworth continued: "'I have played, mylord, at hide-and-seek with the stars, and I have run races with thebrooks. You alone of all that have sought me are equally fleet of footand heart! If you but touch my hand, I am lost forever. And this hand--Ibeg you look at it--is as brown as a berry and as rough as hickory bark. A wild little hand and not lightly to be yielded at any man's behest. Look at me carefully, my lord. ' She rises to full height quickly. Let mesee you do that, Alice. "

Alice's golden head became more distinctively visible as she stood erectupon the boulder. 

"Oh, no! You can improve on that; it must be done lightly and quickly, just touching the tips of your fingers to the rock. Ah, splendid! Nowstand with one hand dropped upon the hip--let me see how that looks. Very good; now repeat these lines after me. 'This other world, of whichyou speak?' Shake your head slowly, frowning; every hint of sinceredoubt and questioning you can throw into look and gesture. 'Is it a kindworld, a place of honest hearts? You have spoken of cities, and crowdedavenues, of music and theatres and many things I have read of but neverseen. You promise me much, but what should I do in so vast a company? Iam very happy here. Spring and summer fill my hands with flowers and inwinter I lay my face to the wind that carries sleet and snow. All thisis mine. ' Arms stretched out. You mustn't make that stiff--very good. 'Earth and sky and forest belong to me. The morning comes down the skyin search of me and the tired day bids me good-night at the westerngate. You would change rags for silk. ' You turn your body and catch yourskirt in your hands, looking down. Yes; you are barefoot in this scene. You'll have to practise that turn. Now--'And yet I should lose mydominion; in that world you boast of I should no more be LadyLarkspur. '"

Alice had repeated these lines, testing and trying differentmodulations. Sometimes a dozen repetitions hardly sufficed to satisfyMrs. Farnsworth, who herself recited them and postured for Alice'sinstruction. 

"Please read the whole of the second act again, " said Alice, seatingherself on the boulder. I waited for a few minutes, enjoying thebeautiful flow of Mrs. Farnsworth's voice, then, mystified and awed, Icrept down the ladder and stole away. "It's Dick Searles's play, " I keptwhispering to myself. It was the "Lady Larkspur" that he was holdingback until he could find the girl who had so enchanted him in London andfor whom he had written this very comedy with its setting in theVirginia hills. 

Hurrying to the garage, I snarled at Flynn, who said Torrence had beencalling me all morning and had finally left word that he would motor toBarton at eight the next evening to see me on urgent business. Iunlocked my trunk and dug out my copy of "Lady Larkspur. " Not even thewizardry of Alice and her friend could have extracted the script. Thetwo women had in some way possessed themselves of another copy, an exactduplicate, even to its blue paper cover; and I sat down and beganrecalling everything Searles had told me about his efforts to find theactress. 

The telephone on the table at my elbow rang until Flynn came in timidlyto quiet it. 

"If it's Mr. Torrence--" I began. 

"It's the Barton station, sir. There's a telegram. " I snatched thereceiver spitefully, thinking it only the methodical Torrence confirmingthe appointment made by telephone. But the operator began reading:

 "SPRINGFIELD, OHIO, September 30, 1917. 

 "Cable from London agent says last forwarding address for Violet Dewing was hotel in Seattle. Please ask Harkaway & Stein and anybody else on Broadway who might know what companies are on coast or headed that way. I find no clew in theatrical papers and don't want to mess things by making inquiries direct. If party can be located, will start West immediately. 

 "SEARLES. "

The thought of Searles was comforting, and I reproached myself for nothaving summoned him at the beginning of my perplexities. I immediatelydictated this reply:

"Take first train East and come to me at Barton as quickly as possible. Hope to have news for you. "

I then jotted down on a scratch pad this memorandum:

"The young woman representing herself as Mrs. Bashford and nowestablished in my uncle's house is one or all of the following persons:

 1. Uncle Bash's widow. 2. An impostor. 3. A spy of some sort, pursued by secret agents. 4. Violet Dewing, an actress. 5. The most interesting and the loveliest and most charming girl in the world. "

I checked off one, two, and three as doubtful if not incredible; fourseemed possible, and five was wholly incontrovertible. But the firstthree certainly required much illumination, and the fourth I washelpless to reconcile with any of the others but the last. I reviewedSearles's enthusiastic description of the young woman who had inspiredhim to write "Lady Larkspur, " and could only excuse my stupidity in notfitting it to Alice the first time I saw her on the ground that Bartonwas the last place in the world I should have looked for her. And then, with all his exuberance, Searles hadn't done her justice!

The following day nothing of importance happened, though Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth again spent the morning in the woodland, presumably studyingSearles's play. My thoughts galloped through my head in a definiteformula: "If she is not my aunt--" "If she is an impostor--" "If she isa spy playing a deep game in the seclusion of Barton--" "If she is theactress Searles is seeking--" At any rate, I would respect her wish toplay the game through; the dangers of carrying the story-book idea toone of half a dozen possible conclusions were not inconsiderable, but Iwas resolved that she should finish the tale in her own fashion. 

On my way to luncheon I passed Dutch pushing a wheelbarrow containing ahuge hamper. 

"It's vittles for the prisoner, sir, " he remarked. "He's some feeder, that guy, and I guess the sooner we shake 'im th' better. He kicks onth' wine, sir. Says it's questionable vintage. When he gets tiredreadin' he pokes his head through the window and kids th' boys. He sayshe's goin' to remember th' place and come back when he's old. A charmin'retreat fer supernumerary superannuates, he calls it. Them's his woids. I'm gittin' sort o' nervous havin' 'im round. Zimmerman--he's theclothes-presser--tried to talk Goiman to 'im this mornin' an' th' guypretended like his feelin's wuz hoit, an' he never knowed th' Hun'slanguage, he says. An' Elsie says she's prepared to swear he talkedGoiman easy enough to her. "

"We'll consider his case later, Dutch. The matter is delicate, mostdelicate. "

If I had expected Searles and his play to be introduced into thetable-talk, I was doomed to disappointment. A dozen times I smothered animpulse to tell Alice and Mrs. Farnsworth I had watched them in thewoodland and of Searles's long search for the ideal of his "LadyLarkspur, " but I was afraid to risk their displeasure. They enjoyedwalking in the wood, they said, and when I charged them withselfishness in not taking me along, Alice immediately suggested a tramplater in the afternoon. 

"I'll send you away after luncheon--I have loads of letters to write, but by four o'clock I'll be keen for the woods again. "

"Letters to all my good fairies, " she laughed when I went for her; "andyou mustn't look at the addresses!" She suggested that we walk to thevillage as she liked to post her letters herself. We went through thewoods where I had seen her the day before. 

"Constance and I were here this morning, " she said when we reached thebig boulder. "Let me see; I think I'll try a little trick to test thehand of fate. Give me those letters, please. If this falls with theaddress up, I'll mail it, " and she chose one and handed me the others;"if the flap side turns up, I'll destroy it. "

She sent it spinning into the air. A branch caught and held it aninstant, then it fell, turning over and over, and lay straight on edgeagainst a weed. 

"No decision!" I cried. "It's an exact perpendicular. "

She knelt beside it, pondering. "I think it leans just a trifle to theaddress side, " she announced. "Therefore you may return it to yourpocket and it goes into the post-office. "

"These letters would probably answer a lot of questions for me if Idared run away with them, " I suggested. 

"The thought does you no credit, sir. You promised not to meddle, butjust to let things take their course, and I must say that you areconstantly improving. At times you grow suspicious--yes, you know youdo--but, take it all in all, you do very well. "

At the post-office she dropped all the letters but one into the chute. "It really _did_ fall a little to the address side?" she questioned. 

I gave my judgment that the letter stood straight on edge, incliningneither way. 

"If my life hung in the balance, I should certainly not act where fatehad been so timid. "

"Perhaps this _does_ affect you, " she said, quite soberly. And there inthe lobby of the little Barton post-office, for the first time, Iindulged the hope that there was something more than friendliness andkindness in her eyes. Her usual composure was gone--for a momentonly--and she fingered the envelope nervously in her slim, expressivehands. A young woman clerk thrust her head through the delivery windowand manifested a profound interest in our colloquy. 

"Suppose, " said Alice musingly, "I were to tell you that if I mail thisletter the effect will be to detain me in America for some time; if Idon't send it, I shall have to write another that will mean that I shallgo very soon. If I stay on at Barton instead of going home to take up mylittle part again for England in the war, it will be an act ofselfishness--just some more of my foolishness, more of the make-believelife that Constance and I have been living here. "

"I want you to stay, " I said earnestly, taking the letter. "Let me beyour fate in this--in everything that affects your life forever. "

She walked quickly to the door, and I dropped the letter into the chuteand hurried after her. 

"You didn't turn round, " I said as we started down the street. "For allyou know, I've got the letter in my pocket. "

"Oh, I'm not a bit frightened! It would be just as interesting one wayas another. "

"But I want you to stay forever, " I declared as we waited on the curbfor a truck to pass. 

"The remark is almost impertinent, " she answered, "when I've known youonly seven days. "

"They've been wonderful days. It really makes no difference aboutletters or your duties elsewhere. Where you go I shall certainly follow;that's something I should like to have understood here and now. "

Loitering along the beach on our way home, I was guiltily conscious thatI was making love rather ardently to a lady who had introduced herselfto me as my uncle's widow. The sensation was, on the whole, veryagreeable. .. . 

"Mr. Torrence and Mr. Raynor, " Antoine announced as we were leaving thedinner-table. 

"Mr. Raynor?" asked Alice. "Who, pray, is Mr. Raynor?"

Their arrival together chilled me, a chill increased by Torrence'sfrosty greeting as he gripped my hand angrily and hissed in my ear:

"You've deceived me about this whole business! I suggest that you leavethe room. "

I was walking toward the door when Mrs. Farnsworth protested. 

"You are not going? Alice, there is no reason why Mr. Singleton shouldleave us. "

"Of course he is not going, " said Alice. She was established at ease ina wicker rocker, unconcernedly plying the ostrich-plume fan. 

"There may be matters----" began Torrence. 

"Oh, nothing that Bob can't hear!" Alice declared. 

"Very well, " muttered Torrence, frowning his complete disapproval. 

He fidgeted for a moment and tried to catch Raynor's eye, but Raynor'sface expressed amusement. I found myself liking Raynor very much. 

"Mr. Raynor told me that he wished to speak to Mrs. Bashford privately, "said Torrence. "If he's satisfied, I'm sure I have no objection to Mr. Singleton's remaining. I regret that my own duty is a disagreeable one. "

"Really!" murmured Alice with nicely shaded impudence. 

"I am convinced, beyond any question, " said Torrence sharply, "that youare not the widow of the late Raymond B. Bashford!"

"That statement, " said Alice without ceasing the languid flutter of thefan, "is correct--quite correct. "

"Certainly: it is entirely true, " affirmed Mrs. Farnsworth. 

"And your coming here as you did is, if you will pardon my frankness, susceptible of very disagreeable constructions. It is my painfulduty----"

He choked upon his duty until Raynor spoke, smiling broadly. 

"I find my duty really a privilege, " he said. "Not only are you not Mrs. Bashford, " he went on with the utmost good humor, "but you are a verydifferent person. I should explain that I represent the American StateDepartment, and that our government has been asked by the BritishEmbassy to find you and deliver a certain message to you. "

"Oh, papa wants me to come home!" cried Alice. "It's droll, Constance, that papa should have thought of making an affair of state of us. Dearpapa will always indulge me just so far, and then he becomes alarmed. "

"He's certainly alarmed now!" laughed Raynor. "But the ambassador haswarned us to be most tactful and circumspect. You may not know that SirArnold Seabring is on his way to this country on a confidential mission. That, of course, is not for publication. "

"Sir Arnold Seabring?" gasped Torrence. 

"The father of the Honorable Miss Seabring, " replied Raynor with anelucidating nod toward Alice. 

"But how--" I began. 

"Mrs. Bashford, the widow of your uncle, is the Honorable MissSeabring's aunt. Is that quite correct?"

"It is all true, " said Alice. "I am a fraud, an impostor. You might goon and say that Mrs. Farnsworth is the wife of Sir Cecil Arrowsmith. Butall the guilt is mine. It was my idea to come here and play a little, because I knew Aunt Alice wouldn't mind. She knew just what I meant todo; really she did, Mr. Torrence! In fact, I have her written permissionto use the house, which I should have shown you if we had got in apinch. But it seemed so much more fun just to let matters take theircourse. It's a pet theory of mine that life is a dull affair unless wetrust to luck a little. After my brother's death I was very unhappy andhad gone out East to visit Aunt Alice, who is a great roamer. I thoughtit would be nice to stop here on the way home, just for a lark, withouttelling papa, who was frantically cabling me to hurry back to England. This isn't the first time I've played hide-and-seek with my family. Iwas always doing that as a child; and if it hadn't been for my generalwaywardness I should never have known you, Constance. Why, I shouldn'thave known you, gentlemen! It has all been so delightful!"

This naïve confession amused Raynor greatly, but Torrence was seeingnothing in it but a dangerous escapade. 

"In the name of the Bainbridge Trust Company, I must notify you, " hebegan, "that by representing yourself as another person, entering intopossession of a large property----"

"But we've been paying all our own expenses; we haven't taken any moneyfrom you, " pleaded Alice. 

"Of course you wouldn't do such a thing, " affirmed Raynor. "Myinstructions are to give you any sum of money you ask. In fact, theGovernment of the United States is instructed to assume fullresponsibility for you until your father arrives. May I go on andclarify matters for these gentlemen, for Mr. Torrence at least isentitled to a full explanation?"

"Constance, " said Alice, turning with a little shrug to her friend, "wehave been caught! Our story is being spoiled for us. Please go on, Mr. Raynor. Just what does the American State Department have to say aboutus?"

"That you are endowed with a very unusual personality, " continuedRaynor, his eyes twinkling. "You are not at all content to remain inthat station of life to which you were born; you like playing at beingall sorts of other persons. Once, so your friend the ambassador confidedto me, you ran away and followed a band of gypsies, which must have beenwhen you were a very little girl. "

"I was seven, " said Alice, "and the gypsies were nice to me. "

"And then you showed talent for the stage----"

"A dreadful revelation!" she exclaimed. 

"But you don't know that it was really your father who managed to haveMrs. Farnsworth, one of the most distinguished actresses in England, take charge of you. "

"No! Alice never knew that!" said Mrs. Farnsworth, laughing. "I was herchaperon as well as her preceptress; but Alice's father knew that ifAlice found it out it would spoil the adventure for her. Alice must dothings in her own way. "

"You are a fraud, " said Alice, "but I always suspected you a little. "

"Speaking of the stage, " resumed Raynor, "it is also a part of myinstructions that the Honorable Miss Seabring shall be discouraged fromany further adventures in that direction; she's far too talented;there's danger of her becoming a great luminary. In other words, she isnot to grace the boards again as Violet Dewing. "

Alice's brow clouded, and she turned to me. "That was settled when youmailed that letter for me. It was to make an appointment with anAmerican playwright who wants me to appear in a most adorable comedy. "

"His name is Dick Searles, " I said, "and he's my most intimate friend. "

She professed indignation when I told of my eavesdropping in the woods, but when I explained that I knew all about the play and Searles'sdespairing search for her she was enormously pleased. 

"How wonderful!" she exclaimed. "You know I told you, Constance, that ifwe really threw ourselves in the path of adventure mystery would comeout to meet us in silken sandals. "

"But you will not appear in this play?" asked Raynor anxiously. "It isthe business of the Government of the United States to see that youcommit no further indiscretions. There is another matter which I hopeyou can clear up. You are not only a subject of concern to the BritishEmbassy, but the French ambassador also has appealed to us to assist himin a trifling matter!"

"The French ambassador?" Alice exclaimed with a surprise I knew to beunfeigned. "I thought the dear Montani was an Italian?"

"We will continue to call him Montani, but he's a Frenchman and one ofthe keenest men in the French Secret Service. You have caused him thedeepest anguish. "

"Please hurry on!" She bent forward with childish delight. "This is apart of the story we've been living that I really know nothing about. Ihope it won't be disappointing!"

Raynor laughed and shook his head. 

"It's fortunate that Montani is a gentleman, anxious to shield andprotect you. You have a fan in your hand----"

She spread it for our inspection. 

"A harmless trinket, but without it the adventure would have been verytame. "

"The story of the fan is in the most secret archives of Paris andWashington. When you were packing up in Tokyo to come home on the verylast day before your departure a lady called on you whom you knew asMadame Volkoff. "

"That dear woman!" exclaimed Mrs. Farnsworth. "We knew her very well. "

"Almost too well, " cried Raynor. "A cultivated woman and exceedinglyclever, but a German spy. She had collected some most interesting datawith reference to Japanese armament and defenses, but suspecting thatshe was being watched, she hit upon a most ingenious way of getting theinformation across the Pacific, expecting to communicate with Germanagents in America who could pick it up and pass it on to Berlin. Yousee, she thought you an easy mark. She got hold of a fan which Montaniinforms me is the exact counterpart of that one you hold. She reducedher data to the smallest possible compass, concealed it in her fan, andwatched for a chance to exchange with you. The astute Montani found theJapanese artisan who had done the tinkering for her and surmised thatyou were to be made the unconscious bearer of the incriminating papers. Montani jumped for the steamer you were sailing on with everydetermination to get the fan. His professional pride was aroused, and itwas only after he found it impossible to steal the fan that he asked ourassistance. He's a good fellow, a gentleman in every sense, and withtrue French chivalry wanted to do the job without disturbing you in anyway. "

We pressed closer about Raynor as he took the fan, spread it open, andheld it close against a table-lamp. "The third, sixth, and ninth, " hecounted. "You will notice that those three pieces of ivory are a triflethicker and not as transparent as the others. Glancing at them casuallyin an ordinary light, you would never suspect that they had beenhollowed out, an exceedingly delicate piece of work. It's a pity tospoil anything so pretty, but----"

He snapped the top of one of the panels, disclosing a neatly foldedpiece of thin paper. 

"If you are all satisfied, I will not go further. I want to deliver thisto the French Embassy intact. I expect Montani here to-night; he will nodoubt be enormously relieved. "

A machine whizzed into the driveway, and Montani came in brushing pastthe astonished Antoine, who had answered the bell. 

"The fan is safe, " cried Raynor; "you may complete the identification. "

"I've handled this whole affair most stupidly, " said Montani after ahurried examination. "I'm satisfied that a German agent in America haspicked up the trail of the fan. One or two lines of my owncommunications failed to work, and after reporting the whole matter tothe French Embassy I began searching for a man, the most dangerous ofall the German spies, who had been intrusted with the business ofrecovering Madame Volkoff's fan and passing the contents on to Berlin. This person has been representing himself as a French secret agent; he'senormously plausible. I feared he might attempt what I failed to do. If----"

Alice glanced at me, and I stepped to the wall and punched the button. 

"Antoine, " I said, "tie the arms of the prisoner in the tool-house andbring him here. "

"A man in the tool-house!" Montani, Torrence, and Raynor ejaculated inconcert. 

"Oh, yes, " murmured Alice, "that's the pleasantest chapter of all. Ourgrenadiers captured a whole invading army that made a night attack--oneof the most remarkable engagements of the present war, Mr. Torrence. "

"The battle of the Bell-Hops, " I suggested. "The prisoner will be herein a moment. "

While we waited Montani produced a photograph, instantly recognizable asa likeness of our prisoner. 

"My reputation is saved!" he exclaimed excitedly. "That he should havebeen caught here! It is too much! I shall never forgive myself for notwarning you of the danger. But you understand, mesdames, that I wassincerely anxious to recover the fan without letting you know itsimportance. When I found at Seattle and Chicago that you were travellingunder assumed names, I was--pray, pardon me--deeply puzzled, the moreso because I had satisfied myself in Tokyo that you were loyalEnglishwomen, and I believed you to be innocent of complicity withMadame Volkoff. Why you should have changed your names, I didn't know, but it's not my affair now. "

"We saw you on the steamer and again in the hotel at Chicago. It wasvery amusing to be followed. We gave you the slip, stopped at Buffalo tosee Niagara, and you came on here and scared the servants to death! Butyou were generous at every point, " said Alice. "We changed our names sowe could amuse ourselves here--at Bob's expense. So now I askeverybody's forgiveness!"

The prisoner, arriving at this moment, became the centre of interest. Without a word Montani walked up to him, brushed back his hair, andcalled our attention to a scar on the crown of his head. 

"There can be no mistake. This is Adolph Schwenger, who passes asreadily for a Frenchman as I do for an Italian. The capture is of greatimportance. I shall want the names of all the persons who assisted inthe matter. "

"It isn't quite clear to me, " remarked Raynor, turning to me, "why youheld that fellow and said nothing about it. If there had been a mistake, it would have been just a little embarrassing for you, Singleton. "

"Chivalry!" Mrs. Farnsworth answered for me. "An anxious concern for thepeace and dignity of two foolish women! I didn't know there was so muchchivalry left in the world. "

An hour was spent in explanations, and Raynor declared that I must writea full account of the Allied army in Connecticut and the capture of thespy. The State archives contained nothing that touched this episode forpiquancy, he declared; and even the bewildered Torrence finally saw thejoke of the thing and became quite human. 

Raynor and Montani decided after a conference that the German agentshould be taken to New York immediately, and I called Flynn to drivethem down. 

"It's most fortunate, sir, that you sent for him just when you did!"announced Antoine, nearly bursting with importance. "The boys had heardqueer sounds in the night, but could find nothing wrong. The prisonerhad taken up the flooring at the back of the tool-house, and wasscooping up the dirt. He'd got a place pretty near big enough to let himthrough. I suppose we ought to have noticed it, sir. "

"You managed the whole thing perfectly, Antoine--you and all of you. "

It was just as Raynor and Montani were leaving the house with theprisoner that we heard a commotion in the direction of the gates. I hadsent word that no one was to be admitted to the grounds, but as I ranout the front door a machine was speeding madly toward the house. Adozen of the guards were yelling their protests at the invasion, and aspurt of fire preluded the booming of Zimmerman's shotgun. 

"Get your man into the car and beat it, " I shouted to Raynor, thinkingan attempt was about to be made to rescue the prisoner. 

The touring-car left just as a Barton taxi flashed into the driveway. The driver was swearing loudly at one of the Tyringham veterans who hadwedged himself into the door of the machine. With some difficulty Iextricated Scotty from his hazardous position. 

Searles jumped out (I had forgotten that he might arrive that night), but before I could greet him he swung round and assisted a lady toalight--a short, stout lady in a travelling cap, wrapped in a coat thatfell to her heels. She began immediately to deliver orders in anauthoritative tone as to the rescue of her belongings. Searles divedinto the taxi and began dragging out a vast amount of small luggage, butmy attention was diverted for a moment by Alice, who jumped down thesteps and clasped her arms about the neck of the stout lady. 

"Aunt Alice!" I heard her saying. "Why didn't you tell us to meet you?"

"Why didn't I tell you?" demanded the stout lady. "The moment you leftme I knew I'd made a mistake in letting you come over here on one ofyour absurd larks! And from the row I had getting into the premises Ijudge that you're at your old tricks. Fired upon! Treated as though Iwere an outlaw! You shall never go out of my sight again!"

"Oh, please don't scold me!" Alice pleaded and turning to me: "This isBob Singleton, your nephew. "

Mrs. Bashford--and I made no question that Searles's companion wasindubitably my uncle's widow--gave me her hand and smiled in a way thatshowed that she was not so greatly displeased with Alice as her wordsimplied. 

"Pay that driver for me and don't fail to tip him. Those Methuselahs atthe gate all but killed him. It was only the vigorous determination ofthis gentleman, who very generously permitted me to share the only motorat the station, that I got through the gates alive! I beg your pardon, but what _is_ your name?"

"Mrs. Bashford, " I interposed, "my friend, Mr. Searles. "

"Mr. Searles!" cried Alice, dropping a cage containing some weirdOriental bird which had been among my aunt's impedimenta. The birdsquawked hideously. 

"Miss Violet Dewing, permit me to present the author of 'LadyLarkspur'!"

Poor Torrence, clinging to a pillar for support, now revivedsufficiently to be included in the introductions. 

It was a week later that Alice and I sat on the stone wall watching thewaves, at the point forever memorable as the scene of our first talk. 

"Aunt Alice isn't playing fair, " she said. "She pretends now that it wasall my idea--coming over to play at being your uncle's widow, but shereally encouraged me to do it so I could give her an impartial judgmentof your character. I'm her only niece and her namesake, and she relieson me a good deal. You know she's very, very rich, and she had never anyidea of keeping your uncle's money. She meant all the while to give itto you--provided she found you were nice. And she thinks you are verynice. "

"Your own opinion of me would be interesting, " I suggested. 

She had gathered a handful of pebbles and was flinging them fitfully ata bit of driftwood. I wished her lips hadn't that little quiver thatpreluded laughter and that her eyes were not the haven of all the dreamsin the world. 

She landed a pebble on the target before replying. 

"You are very nice, I think, " she said with disconcerting detachment. "At first I was afraid you didn't like nonsense, but you really gotthrough very well, considering the trouble I caused you. But I'm introuble myself now. Papa will land to-morrow. He's the grandest, dearestman in all this world, but when he finds that I'm going to act in Mr. Searles's play he will be terribly cut up. Of course it will not be forlong. Even if it's a big success, I'm to be released in three months. Constance and Sir Cecil think I owe it to myself to appear in the piece;they're good enough to say nobody else can do it so well--which is aquestion. I'm going to give all the money I earn to the blind soldiers. "

(I wished the tears in her eyes didn't make them more lovely still!)

"Being what you are and all you are, it would be brutal for me to add tothe number of things you have to tell your father. I'm a very obscureperson, and he is a gentleman of title and otherwise distinguished. Youare the Honorable Miss----"

"Papa has said numbers of times, " she began softly, looking far outacross the blue Sound--"he has said, oh, very often, that he'll neverstop troubling about me until--until I'm happily married. "

"When you came here you wore a wedding-ring, " I remarked casually. 

"It was only a 'property' ring, to help deceive you. I bought it inChicago. When Aunt Alice came I threw it away. "

"The finger seems lonesome without it, " I said. "If I get you another, Ihope you'll take better care of it. "

"If you should put it there, " she replied, looking fixedly at the hand, "that would be very, very different. "

THE END

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BY MEREDITH NICHOLSON

LADY LARKSPURTHE MADNESS OF MAYTHE VALLEY OF DEMOCRACY

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

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Transcriber's Note:

1. Books "By Meredith Nicholson" relocated to end of text.