I’LL TAKE THAT BET

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXXVIII, Issue 2, 12 January 1907, Page 17

I’LL TAKE THAT BET

By

SHEPPARD STEVENS

In which it is shown that the winner frequently gets more than his wager calls for

CHAPTER I, STARTING THE BALL A-ROLUNG. IT is more than probable that if Tony Van Amringe and Evan Austin had not dined so well that evening, the events which I am about to chronicle would never have taken place. When the question of their evening’s amusement arose they decided without hesitation on seeing Bellew in ‘•Raffles,’* both having an openly expressed preference for a play where something happened. as against one of those “Shaw or Ibsen things that are all talk.” It was on their way home from the old Grand Opera House, where Bellew was playing a week’s return engagement, that they

fell into a discussion as to the actual cleverness of Raffles.

“I don't agree with you, Tony. It is easy enough to create a set of circumstances in a book or on the stage which give your hero the appearance of tremendous'cleverness, yet if he were to do the same things in real life, where he did not have the centre of the stage, so to speak,

nobody would credit him with more titan ordinary common sense. Any man with average coolness of brain can get out of the situations in which Raffles finds himself. if he only keeps his head. “If lie only keeps his head,” objected his friend warmly, “but the whole question lies in that insignificant ‘if.’ In ninety-nine cases out of a hundred a man

no sooner commits a crime than his sense of guilt upsets his judgment and he acts’ with about the brain capacity of a bug. He gives himself away by his own foolishness.”

‘•Well. I don’t make any pretensions to more than average brain, but I’ll bet Raffles never faced a situation that 1 couldn’t have got out of as readily as he aid.” Austin flung away his cigarette and readied for a fresh one from his friend’s proffered case with the air of having definitely settled the matter uufler discussion. . • Oh. peek-a-boo. Evan! You may feel feure that you are the real article, the surest thing that ever ran over the Course, but I’d be willing to put money on it vou would lose your head completelv’and be chasing yourself in ten minutes after you knew that an officer was on your track And take him just about another ten to M vou, vou having kindly blazed a trail for him with hands pointing, and tins wav to the thief painted beneath so that even a blind bobby need not miss you, Van Amringe spoke derisively. ~. . • And I am equally willing to bet that I could get away as clean as you please, boastfully declared the other. "Well, since we have no way of testing the matter, there isn’t any use in dis cussing it, but 1 Stick to my opinion, retorted Tony obstinately. • Yes we can prove it aiter a fashion. For instance. I’ll bet you I can snatch some valuable of yours, here, on the open street, with people passing, and vou can set an officer directly* on my heels and I’ll escape him I’ll go further; if I lose the bet, I’ll not only put tip the hundred gracefully, but I 11 agree to stay in quod twenty-four hours before you need feel called upon to explain and let nie out.*’ ‘ I take the bet,” cried Tony promptly. "When is the trial to be’ Here uud Bow’’’ l ... Oh, no, that wouldn't bo fair to me, for you would be on guard and ready.

We’ll say any time within a week, and if 1 fai Ito carry out any part of the agreement before twelve o’clock next Thursday night, I forfeit the hundred. There is one stipulation which I make, however; you are not to try to catch me yourself, but must put an officer on my track.” “All right, my misguided friend, and I hope you are fully prepared for the twenty-four hours’ gaol experience, for I assure you you will get all that is coming to you. Don't count on my being softhearted and letting you off that part of the bargain,” warned Tony.

"Don’t waste your sympathy. You recall the directions for cooking a hare? First catch it.” The tone was overconfident.

’’Never mind, Austin, think of the use to which you can put your experience,” rejoined his friend comfortingly.

"After that twenty-four hours you will be qualified, according to modern methods, to write a book entitled, ‘Some Terrible Abuses of Our Modem Gaol System,’ which will be one of the six best sellers and yield you fame and fortune.” "No, Tonv, mv son, mv trouble is to

decide which particular worthy charity shall have the hundred I take from you. 1 could not keep it myself : it will be too easy—like taking a rattle from a baby.”

Some time longer they continued to chaff each other on the foolishness of iioping to win this wager, before the talk drifted into other channels. Thev had

continued up Broadway and were nearing Twenty-Sixth-street, when, with a sudden dexterous movement, Austin snatched the scarf-pin from his friend’s neck, and with somewhat hurried pace crossed the street, springing forward at the warning elang of an automobile bell, but assuming as unhurried a step as his overpowering inclination to run would permit him, when he reached the pavement on the other side. Tony Van Aniringe sent an uncomprehending gaze after his friend’s retreating figure. His hand involuntarily flew to his denuded scarf, but it was an appreciable moment before he realised what had taken place. He had so fully assured himself that Austin’s attempt was to be made at some future time, that he was completely off guard. It was with a distinct effort that he rallied himself, recalling at the same time his friend's stipulation—that he, Tony, was not to attempt the capture, but was to set an officer on the trail. Turning hurriedly to summon a policeman, he discovered a blue-uniformed figure coming directly toward him. , ’•Officer ” he began, but before iie could state his ease the other interrupted breathlessly: "Didn’t that fellow grab something from you, sir? I thought 1 saw him make a pass at you?” "He did, officer; he snatched my scarfpin. Catch him for me and I will give you fifty dollars. Here is my card. Did you get a good look at him? Would you recognise him again?" ”1 took notice of him as you passed me, sir. 1 keeps my eye out for his kind, and unless I mistake it was slick Jimmy Winston, one of the flash gang that works among your sort. I'll get him this time, you bet. He give me the slip not long ago, but he won't do it again,” and the big officer started in pursuit of a certain high hat and overcoat which was not yet out of sight and which he thought ho could distinguish among the many of like appearance that Ire-

quent Broadway at that hour of the night. • There being no reason why he should not hurry or even run. he was gaining rapidly on the figure walking briskly ahead of him. when the doors of the Princess Theatre and Weber's Music Hall began almost simultaneously to send forth their nightly crowd of amusement seekers. Austin was just passing as a scattered few started to trickle out, but when the officer reached the spot it was to be caught in the full rush of the jostling mass then pouring into the street. Fearing to lose his man he made an attempt to leave the sidewalk, but the pack of carriages and fretting horses made this impossible, and the worst of it was that the other side of the street seemed little better than the one he was on. for it was the hour of crowds. He pushed and fought his way through the press in a manner which called forth many protests, and would have elicited something more decided had it not been for the blue uniform. When he had at length disentangled himself from the crowd, the object of his pursuit was almost out of sight; indeed he could no longer feel that the particular back that he was following was that of the man he wanted. Having lost sight of him during those minutes of struggle, he realized, in trying to spot him again, how inconspicuous the fellow was by reason of th- perfect conventionality of his dress. Trusting to the fact that he would be able to recognize him if he were indeed Slick Jimmy Winston, as he believed, he broke into a quick run and gained rapidly on his man. Evan, who had been resisting at every step a desire to look back and see if Tony had succeeded in setting a sleuth on his heels, was just congratulating himself on his success in escaping and feeling that the game had been too easy to be worth while, when he heard hurrying feet in his rear. and. utterly unable to control the involuntary movement of his head, turned back to catch a fleet

ing glimpse of the blue-coated Nemesis gaining on him at every step. For the first time, a realization of his position came to him, and the gay braggadocio of his earlier mood dropped from him in an instant. He faced the humiliation and discomfort of that twenty four hours in gaol which he had been rash enough to add to his penalty for losing the wager, and a chill of disgust ran up his spine. Tony’s jeers were already ringing in his ears, while his imagination, always vivid, was giving him a scries of experiences not unlike those which would have been his if he were indeed guilty of a real crime. Tony's words, ”A man no sooner commits a crime than his >ense of guilt upsets his judgment and he acts with about the brain capacity of a bug. giving himself away by his own foolishness,’’ came back to him with a quick realisation of their truthfulness. He found himself forced to shut his teeth hard and hold every nerve in him tense, to keep his rebellious feet from breaking into a run. He had turned into a side street and was going toward Fifth Avenue when he first became aware of the pursuing officer. When he reached the corner it was to see before him the familiar exterior of a popular club in which he had maintained his out-of town mem bership during all the years of his absence from New York, and which he had much frequented since his return to the city. This offered him a sure refuge, and he was thankfully making his way toward it when a • horrible possibility struck him—the officer might follow him in and arrest him there, before all his fellow members. He dared not risk such a contretemps, yet which way was lie to turn? Fortunately for him. at this instant he was lost to his pursuer's \ icw by the passing of a number of people, and when the policeman again caught sight of him he was just disappearing into a carriage standing before the door of the club. No sooner had the door

ibiunetl after him than the vehicle off rapidly, leaving the □anting •bobby” on the curb. * hauling after the coachman, who, utterly oblivious, drove cn the faster, and. turning a toruer, was lost to view. CHAPTER 11. A CLOSE CALL. When Evan Austin, in a moment of Complete demoralisation and loss of nerve, opened the door of a carriage standing before his club and stepped, into it. it was with the intention of lettnig himself out on the other side, crossing the *treet and turning into the spot which might offer momentary hiding from the officer whom he felt to be close at his heels. The possibility of its containing an (kvupant never occurred to him until the door slammed l»ehind him. and in hi< effort to r<aeh the other side of the vehicle be stumbled over a pair of feet. ’*l beg your pardon.” the conventional expression of politeness leaped to his lips involuntarily. At thi- instant the sudden starting of th horses threw him on the front seat, where he remained, too astonished at the turn affairs had taken to make any movement of escape even if he had desired to do so. He could not understand the silence cf the othvr occupant. The situation began to develop an element of mystery. which deepened as the flash of the street lamp revealed that his companion was a woman, and a beautiful one. Moni-ntarily expecting her to cry out or otherwise protest against his intrusion. he kept his eyes glu d fearfully upon her figure, waiting for each revealing flash of light with inhaled breath, the while his mind, made fertile by his predicament, wa- building up some excuse to be offered when she did realise his presence. He had just decided that a muttered apology as to having mistaken his carriage would relieve him of his unpleasant position, and. thanks to the swift gait of the horses, set him down far out cf r?ach of his blue-coated pursuer, when a flash of light showed him more dearly than he had yet been abl to see. the e’ear-eut. rameo-Jike profile. Her head wAs renting wearily against the dark covering of tae" carriage cushions ami he saw for the first time the reason"i h r silence— her eyes were closed. She looked so pale that a sudden fright seized Ausrin. Conk! she have fainted? Utterly at a loss what to Jo. he waited for another flash from the street corner by which to verify his fears. It came, and this time he saw on her che t k the gleam of a tiny wet streak which annotin: J itself unmistakably as the mark of a tear. He leased forward involuntarily, forgetful of self, of his awkward -it -ation. of everything except that his companion wa- a woman in distress: perhar- ill or fainting. E fore he could be guilty of the mistak of -peakiug. he saw her raise her - _ ■ ■ : ■ I -ta] a ti n that she had not fainted, and that -he did not desire h r grief to be not iced. 1 ■ I she si Id s fit to pen her eyes, in th meanwhile eontira tula ting himself that every second w..- ‘..iking him farther from pursuit. I to Austin. I w.;< by waiting, fully five minutes bef- re Lis fellow passenger stirred, sat up. and. in a perfectly natural tone. Bo 1*1: “What makes you so quiet. -John; did the wedding put you in a serious mood?” Before he had time to think of something to say to this most unexpected remark, the carriage turned a corner and a lamp flashed a bright light for an in-tant aervs- his face. He heard a frasp. a treat’ b-s. half-frightened “Oh.” a: i. ‘ of the carriage had touched a button and AuMin f«wmd himself blinking in a i oi electric brilliance. Even - in the mesorably embarrassing turn affair- were taking he could not but notice how much more beautiful ahe a 4 :*ar-d in the .full.light than Jn these »liin glimpse- wMHsizhe had oh taiaed uf her before, ami tW*_in gpiie of a look of startled fright which’wholly changed the habitual «wcet»ess of her expre>£4on. Rut he had time in whi<-h to eonaider bar - perfection#, great ae they

were, for he was quick to realise that her upraised haml was seeking the check which would bring the eoavhinan to a sudden halt. He sprang forward and caught her wrist, saying as he did so: “One moment, madam. I b g. Allow me to explain my unwarranted in trusion——” At this instant his eyes, coming on a level with the small window in the rear of the carriage, saw. framed as a picture, a portion of a handsom cab. and leaning forward against its closed doors, with eyes intently fixed on the earraige ahead, was the very blue coated minion of the law whom Austin fancied had been left far behind in the vicinity of the chib. A look of consternation flashed over his face. He sank back in his seat with a thorough realisation of the folly of his absurd wager and the train of most disagreeable consequences likely to follow in its wake. He still held the hand of bis companion in a tight grasp, and its soft warmth aroused him to bis position before her angry tone challenged him: “How dare you? What is the meaning of this? Why do you presume to keep me from stopping the carriage?” Even her anger did not conceal entirely her fright, and Evan, realising that his grasp was increasing it. released her hand with a word of apology. “One moment, I beg, before you give your signal to tha coachman. I have no excuse for having taken refuge in your carriage except the flimsiest. In fact. I was hard pressed: I thought the vehicle empty, and I but intended to go in one door and out of the other in the faint hope of eluding the man who was directly on my track. “As 1 closed the carriage door behind me. you may remember, I stumbled, and at the same instant your coachman started. Since then. I have been your very willing prisoner.’’ “Then you shall have immediate release,’’ she returned, her tone more natural, her hand reaching again toward the check. “One moment again, I beg. I have just discovered that at the moment I cease to be your willing prisoner I shall become the unwilling captive of the man in the hansom just behind us. Turn around and you will see that he is close on my heels." . . She turned quickly, saw the threatening figure of the policeman, and with a gasp of dismay faced Austin again. “A policeman! Oh, what have you been doing? You have committed some crime ?’’ At this the absurdity of the situation and her fear-stricken face aroused his sense of humour. Throwing back bis head he gave vent to a hearty peal of such honest, boyish laughter that the woman’s fears evaporated under it as frost under a warm sun. ‘•Well, what have you been doing, then: why does he want you?’* And Evan noticed that this time her tone was merely puzzled. “I have been behaving like a fool, but I haven’t done anything that I a:u ashamed of,’’ lie replied with perfect frankne—-. meeting a gaze widen seemed to lay him on a -et of mental balances and weigh ass honesty. “You look like a gentleman: indeed you look honest." -i.e said at length, as if she were thinking aloud. Again 1 gar ■ it to his full, hearty, and disarming laugh—the kind of laug'iter tl it finds it ’ _ ■ ■ to iate . anything honest goodness. " “Then help me." he appealed boyishly. "Forget for a few minutes that you are what you are" the swept her with a comprehensive glance which was an unspoken compliment), “that I am an utter ranger, with no representative of Mrs Grundy near to vouch for me. and remember that we are both merely human creatures, the one needing aid. and the other able to give it.’’ He was scarcely aware himself how persuasive be was as he leaned eagerly toward her. his Jeep-blue eyes compelling her by their controlling power to give heed to his unusual ph a. "What do you want me to do?"'she demanded cautiously. “Instead of making your eoaehman •top and putting me out in the road to be devoured by my pursuing friend, let me stay in ’ydur carriage until you reaeh your destination. I will then assist you. out as if I belonged with you. aceeinipiny you to the door, and I may be <w»-n so-bUge. 1 to ask you to allow tnc to step inside for a few minutes, until my tod attentive friend chai! hive gass-

ed. then I shall go my way. your eter-

nal debtor, and we will probably never see each other again. Is this too much for a fellow creature to ask?” “But siippcsf he tries to arrest you, there ~ She hesitated uni did not finish her sentence. “Never fear; with your assistance 1 shall be able to Uutf him easily. In any case 1 shall take care that you suffer no annoyance.*’ Whether she would have .--»nsented to his proposition or not. it is hard to say. While she balanced the "question the coachman neared the eurb, brought his horses to a slower pace, and finally stopped before an old fashioned brownstone front whose exterior was ample guarantee for the respectable afUeenee if its dwellers. Austin turned the handle of the car-riage-door. sprang out, and waited to assist his companion, all with the accustomed ease of good breeding. Even in her trepidation at what might be about to happen, she found herself taking note of this. She gave him her hand, stepped out, crossed the pavement, ind was beginning to ascend the steps when the hansom, which had followed closely, stopped with a jerk which seemed to tumble the hurrying officer on the eurb. In sn instant he was besTne vvan anl had laid a detaining hand on his arm. "You’ll have to come with me, youag man. You’ve give me a good chase, but I’ve got you at last.*’ Evan made an indignant movement as if to shake off his hand, bat the . ffiter held him firmly. “None of that =ow, Jimiu..*. I’ve got you for fair this time, and you needn’t put up any fight. Just come along peaceable.” “What do you mean by this insult, officer? Take your hand off my arm or I'll make you?’ ’threatened Austin, angered by the man's insolent manner. “Now. none of that. You know well enough what you done. You've led me a pretty chase and I guess you was thinking that I had. been left behind when you popped into that carriage in front of the club, didn’t you, Jimmy?" . “I don't know why you presume to call me ’Jimmy.’ For whom do yon take me, my man?’ inquired Austin coolly. “Aw. what are you givia’ me: Don’t you guess I know Slick Jimmy Winston by now? Ybu’e give me enough trouble for me to know you anywhere,” returned the man with conviction. “Nevertheless you are mistaken,” returned the other, gaining assurance by the officer’s words. “Does this look like your friend Slick Jimmy?” .“tning so • hat the light fell full an his face, and lifting his hat at the sass-’ time. ’ - The officer loosened his grip and fell back with an exclamation >f surprise. “I beg pardon, sir: I tliotJght you were another man. Y'on do look a bit like him, but I see I’m mistaken:’’ then, after a hesitating pause, during which Austin turned to coatiiiue up the steps, the man stepped forward again and eaught Evan’s arm anew. “But I've got to ran you in just the same. sir. You’re ti.e man I have Iseen following from Tv. enty-sixth street.” “What nonsense is t:.is? What have I done?- Show me your warrant and let us have done with this foolish business. Don't you see that you .ire annoying and frightening my wife, offi-er?" The policeman turned toward the woman, who during their < lloquy had remained in one position, her white face and tightly clenched hands evidencing her extreme nervousness. “I l<eg your paruon. ma'am: is this your husband?" he asked •e=pretfully. It was on her lips to deny him. to ery out in repudiation, bid sh ? eanght Ms compelling gaze, which seemed to plead boyishly and eommani with some strange force which she <->ul:i not define. a?. 1 : she was powerless. Scarcely knowing w'>t ‘he did. •he bowed her head in assent and uttered an almost inaudible "yes." “Well. I thought sure you was the nan I had been tracking from Twentv'•ixth Street, but in one of thee* times that I lost sight of him ’ must have picked you up by mistake. He stole a valuable scarf-pin from a ntan he was walkin' with, in the coolest fashion you ever see. He'» a sharp gazabo, all right, all right. I beg yon end your lady’s pardon, sir. for holdin' you up like this, but a man will make nist.’kts sometimes.” The officer ended in a re-tfad'n tone, in strong contrast with th.:* in which he had begun his attempt to arrest.

i •That's all right, officer; say bo more about it,” returned Evan in a «ffbaad manner not at all in keeping vruli the wild sense of relief that was sending the blood dancing through his veins. Following his companion up the steps as the erestfallen policeman departed, he a-ked in a low tone for her ’at<%-key, which she produced after some fumbling and handed to him.

When the door swung open he followed her into the lighted hall, and from it into a long, oid-fa.-hioned drawingroom whose sober elegance'and beautiful antique furniture bespoke people of taste, refinement, and ancestry.

Beyond the most casual glance the surroundings were completely lost on Austin, who had his eyes fixed on the patrician, white-faced woman before him.

"Thank you for your goodness to me.” he said. "You iiardly realise from what you have saved me. In a moment, when the policeman has gone. I shall relieve you of my presence, which I have so unpardonably thrust upon you for the last half-hour.” She refused to notice the hand frankly outstretched toward her. "How dared you say what you did? Claim me for your wife and make me admit the claim?" she questioned indignantly.

Austin locked at her a moment as if he were groping for an answer, then gave utterance to a sentence which was as great a surprise to him as to her. "I think it was a phophesy,” he said, holding her under the spell of his eyes. She made a little gesture as if to ward ■way something r.bhorrent. "Was it—was it true —what the officer said?”

For answer he opened his hand, and there sparkling on its palm lav the scarfpin which he had gripped tightly in his closed fist ever since the moment when he had snatched it from Van Amringe's era vat. The look of horror on her face as she retreated before the sight cut him sharpIv.

"Oh.” she gasped. "how you have abused my .confidence? You said that you had done nothing to be ashamed! of. Are you so hardened that you feel no shame for that?”

Listen to me. let me explain,” he cried trying her catch her hand, hut she buried her face against both of them, begging: “No. no. go: it is the only thing you can do. Go'” And he went, in spite of his desire to stay, his wish to dear himself ia her eyes. Her disgust and fear were so real that they daunted him for a moment, and it was not-until he had yielded and was outside that he recognised how foolish he had been not to stick it out and insist upon her hearing him. He had scarcely gone half a square from the house before he heard the rattle of a hansom and saw the' vehicle pull up before the very dcor which he had just closed after his ignominious retreat. He saw a man alight, run swiftly up the steps and let himself in with a latchkey. Struck by an appalling thought, he paused in the middle of the sidewalk and stood staring back at the house whence he had eome. She-was married.-and this must be "-John.” her husband, the man for whom she had waited before the club. t HAPTER HI. THE AFTERMATH OF A STRANGE ADVENTURE. For some time after the front, door closed behind Austin. Constance Cadwallader stood in the centre of the draw-ing-room. gazing straight in front of her." possessed by the humiliating sense of having come directly in contact with a low crime; nay more, or having been ■ party to it, since she had aided the'criminal to escape. 'Wow that the incident was closed she rehearsed it again and again, trying to understand the motive which had caused her to act in a fashion so utterly foreign both to her nature and training. It was not until she heard the stopping of a cab before the door. followed liy familiar footfalls on the stone steps without, that she roused herself sufficiently to run swiftly up-stairs, enter her room and close the door softly. Then she heard the rattle of th* latch key in the front door and the sound of her cousin’s step in the hall below. How was she to meet him? What explanation could she offer for haring allowed the eoach man to drive

off and leave him in that uncetemonious fashion?

She could not tell him the truth—own that she had driven home with a strange man. whom she liad actually admitted to the house to save from the police. She covered her face again as the humiliating circumstances marshalled themselves once more. What demon could have possessed her to act as she had?

She was still groping for an excuse, her heart thudding with consternation, when she heard her cousin ascend the stairs aisd pause before her door. “Constance,” lie called in a low tone. “Yes.” she answered, trying to steady her voice.

"Oh, you are safe at home; lam so relieved. I couldn’t understand what had happened when I saw the carriage gone. Were you ill, dear? Is anything wrong?" he questioned anxiously. "I’m feeling better than I was.” She grasped at his suggestion, not actually lying, yet leaving him to infer what was untrue. 1“ hope you will forgive my unceremonious manner of leaving you, John."

"Yes. yes. of course; but don't you want a doctor? Can Ido anything for you?” He was still solicitous.

“No. indeed. lam quite all right now and am going to bed at once. Good night.” "Good night: but I feel as if something ought to be done.” He accepted her assurance with reluctance. "Nonsense, don't worry. Jchn; I'm quite myself now and there is nothing to be done. Good night.” The last words were uttered in so firm a tone that they left John Penniman nothing to do except turn toward his own room. He did so. feeling that he would have been better satisfied if Constance had opened the door and given him the assurance of sight as well as her word.

He was glad that she was not offended with him. for he was guiltily aware that he had allowed himself to be detained longer at the elub than the glib five minutes which he had begged of her. and knowing her hatred of waiting, his first fear had been that she was annoyed with him. As soon as Constance heard her cousin's door elose she began hastily to prepare for the night. In a very few minutes she was safely in bed with the light out. but she found that sleep, ready enough to eome to her usually, refused to be wooed to-night. Her brain was in a whirl. The events of the evening ground themselves over and over through her mind like a series of biographic pictures, and Austin's face kept rising before her, distinct, clear, his compelling gaze fixed upon her. Each time that she met in fancy his steadfast blue eyes, a . thrill shot through her. followed by a shiver of disgust, as she whispered to herself: “A thief, a common sneak-thief.” Yet everything about him, his look, his manner, seemed to deny such a conclusion. and she realised that had it not been for his own admission she would have found such a belief impo-si-ble. Her cheeks burned like flasre when she remembered that this man had claimed her, Constance Cadwallader, as his wife, and that she had acknowledged his claim. Even in the darkness she l-.il her face. Toward morning she fell at last into a deep sleep, comforting herself with the thought that New York was a very large city, and that =he was never likely to lay eyes on him again. Probably at no period of her life would she have been so open to the impulse which had swept her into such a series of unconventional acts as on this this particular evening. Eor months past she had b'en increasingly conscious that she was a very discontented, unsatisfied woman. Not that she gave way to this either in speech or action—she would have considered this ill-bred—but deep in her heart the feeling grew and waxed strong until life was fast becoming an unendurable bore.

There was nothing in it except the same unimpeachable set of people, the same conventional pleasures, the same wellbred emotions. She felt at times as if she were ceasing to be an individual, and becoming a mere replica of one of those marvellously self-contained wax ladies on which dressmakers display their wares.

She could not truthfully say that her pulse had ever stirred a beat quicker for any man. She had had plenty of offer* of the well bred, self controlted

order, from which all emotion sermeJ to have been carefully eliminated, and not one of them had excited a ray of Interval in her.

She wcsiK-ely realised that there was a certain high dignity and in herself which caused even impetuous men to woo her with distant dignity, as if she were some far-away goddess, too line for earth. She was in fact warm-hearted and impulsive under all her and she longed to have some one breezily take possession of her. force her to fling aside her cool calculations, ami be willing for love’s sake to risk all that love demanded* Of all the lovers who had ventured into her life her cousin. John Penniman. was the most doggedly ; isistent. There were times, in spite of her determined and reiterated refusals. that the calm perseverance of the man. and the quiet assumption on the part of her aunt that it was to be. filled her with panic. She feared that this constant pressure would conquer in time, and she would meekly end her days Mrs John Watts Penniman. On this particular evening she had been with her cousin to the. wedding of Mary Harriman, a friend, who had fallen wildly—-and her relatives said foolishly in love with a young army officer who had nothing beyond his pay and the near prospect of being ordered to the Philippines. Despite her father’s disapproval, and the assurance that if she disappointed him she must expect nothing from him, Mary had persisted in her choice.

Constance had caught a look which passed between the young bride and groom that night, and it had opened up to her a world of which she was heretofore but dimly aware. It was this that had set her heart aching with a great new loneliness as she leaned back in the corner of the carriage while it waited before the club door: it was this that had caused a few foolish tears to escape and trickle down her cheek. It was the longing not merely to be loved, but the fear that she was never to know this ennobling sentiment; in fact,

• Aoubt as to her capacity either to inspire or feel it. CHAPTER IV. A FEARSOME DISCOVERY. When Constance Cadwallader woke from the troubled sleep the next morning it was to face the events of the night before with an added sense of humiliation and discomfort. During her short period of unconsciousness she had dreamed so vividly that it was only by a distinct mental effort that she was able to separate dreams from realities. During sleep she had seen herself arrayed as a bride, the filmy veil already fastened to tier hear. She was strangely happy as she waited. Then out of the vague surroundings of her dreams the man of the night before approached her, holding in his extended hand a scarf-pin —the scarf-pin. He was smiling at her with a look of tender assurance.

She took the pin from him and fastened it in his scarf, then he had eaught her in his arms and kissed her, and she had given him kiss for kiss. But when morning broke, and she passed from vision to reality, she left behind that sweet content which had possessed her in her sleep. She recalled the events of the night before with disgusted shudders which the vividness of her dream only augmented. Those kisses—they were so real—so real—that the recollection of them made her cheeks burn.

Realising the futility of lying there thinking over mistakes that were beyond recall, Constance threw- aside the covers and stepped out of bed.

When she descended to breakfast nearly an hour later she found her aunt already seated at the table, her large, placid personality seeming to fill the room with that atmosphere of self-satis-faction which stifled Constance at times, making her long to throw up a mental window somewhere and let in a breath of the stinging eold air of reality. Since the death of her father, being at the time a girl of fifteen, Constance had lived with her aunt, Mrs John

James Penniman, and there had scarcely been a day during that period in which she lead not felt toward that good la<ly an undefined antagonism, for which she took herself to task, but which she was unable to conquer. Her aunt always reminded her of a large, well-fed pussy eat that purred loudly on being stroked, and, since Mrs Penniman was rich, negative, and too stupid to hold many opinions, the world invariable- stroked her.

Her loudly optimistic purr was admired and counted to her for righteousness, yet it was nothing more than a selfish satisfaction in her own well-being and a determined ignoring that there were others not so well circumstanced as she was. For years she had felt no keener emotion than irritation at the failure of her dressmaker, or annoyance at the stupidity of the cook, and had any stronger feeling forced itself upon her she would have resented it vigorously, regarding it as a vulgar intrusion on her privacy.

Into this atmosphere Constance had come, a vivid, impulsive, affectionate creature. Little by little she had felt herself being crushed into her aunt's small molds, pared, and trimmed, and fitted, until she grew to doubt if there was anything left alive of the bright, generous girl that she once had been.

There were times when, in a fit of rebellion, she would vow to rise against this unconscious tyranny and assert herself, but when she tried to put finger on some specific cause of complaint there was none. She was only being wrapped about, fold on fold, by an impalpable gossamer something, until the wholesome life was being choked from her.

How she longed to break away from it all. to go out into freer conditions even if they meant poverty and hardship!

As Constance slipped into her seat at the breakfast table, Mrs Penniman laid down the morning paper and her lorgnette.

“ I have just been reading the account of Mary Harriman's wedding, Constance. It was evidently a very pretty affair —very pretty. But what a pity

for a elever, attractive girl like that so throw herself away!” commented Mr* Penniinau in her fat, satisfied voice.

Constance assented absently and be* gan eating the grapefruit which the butler had just placed before her.

"Didn't I hear John come in last night after you did, dear? I thought I heard the front door close twice; no, three times.”

Constance was caught in a suddeit panic at the simple query. She did not wish to lie, and to her aunt of all people it was impossible to tell the truth in regard to last night's adventure. For an instant she pictured herself giving way to a foolish impulse to pour out the whole tale, and the look of horror and consternation which her imagination painted on those fat, complacent features almost brought a smile to her lips. Fortunately she was saved the necessity of an answer to her aunt’s question by the arrival of her cousin, who entered the breakfast room with an expression of concern on his commonplace face.

After a perfunctory greeting to hiS mother, he turned to his cousin with a relieved air.

" I’m glad to see that you are all right this morning. Con. I have been worried about you ever since you ran off and left me last night.” " Was Constance ill last evening?” inquired Mrs Penniman with curiosity, but no concern.

" Yes,” drawled her son, who affected the deliberate both in motion and speech. " I left her in the carriage before the club—l was obliged to stop a few minutes to see Saylow, who is going out of town this morning. While I was tnere she was taken a bit ill and made Henry bring her home.”

Constance kept her eyes on her plate, thankful enough to have her cousin do the explaining and lying for her, but she was obliged to assure both of her relatives that she was quit.- well this morning, that there had really been nothing worth considering the matter, before the subject could be disposed of. It was scarcely put out of the way

before another Ms disturbing to the girl took its place. “By the way ” —John Peniinan laid down the spoon with which he was about to attack his grapefruit—■“ I met Maggie in the hall as I came down, and she tells me that this morning she found one of the front drawing-room windows open. She says nothing seems to have been disturbed, nor does she miss anything, yet it looks as if some one had entered the house, for she is sure that she examined that window after Horton locked up for the night, and that it was securely fastened. Have you missed anvthing—any silver or valuables—from this part of the house Horton?” addressing the butler.

At this instant Constance's nerveless fingers let fall her spoon, which dropped to the floor beside her table. A sudden recollection startled her.

When she left her room that morning she had discovered that her door wus not latched. She generally locked it, but fancied that in her worrv of the night before she had overlooked "the usual precautions, yet she was positive that she must have closed it tightly. Horton stooped deliberately to pick up her spoon, and as deliberately brought her another before answering the question addressed to him.

_ “ Nothing was disturbed here, sir. on know the silver and valuables are placed in the safe in Mrs. Penniman’s room at night.” His voice had its usual subdued, respectful sound. *’ Yes, and it is a most foolish arrangement,” protested Mrs. Penniman. “ Some day I shall wake up to find myself murdered and the silver gone.” Constance laughed foolishly. “ If you don't discover it before then it won't be very painful, Aunt Mary.”

" Constance, you are so unfeeling. Now, I can never heas- of a possible calamity to another without ” But here her son. who seldom gave much heed to her aimless talk, interrupted her. “Was anything disturbed in your room, Constance?” he inquired, anxiously.

'■ No, everything was as usual, as far as I could see.” she replied, on tenterhooks in her desire to be upstairs and examine her jewel-box.

As soon as breakfast was over she flew to her room, closing the door carefully behind her as she entered. She seemed to know what she was to see before she lifted the lid of her jewelcasket, which she was in the habit of leaving very carelessly on her dressingtable, its frail lock being the only protection for the valuables within. As she gazed into its satin-lined depths, empty save for a few valueless trinkets, her heart stood still. A diamond pin. several very handsome rings, and her mother’s diamond and pearl collar, which she seldom wore and generally kept in the safe in her aunt’s room, all were gone. The slight lock of the box had been easily broken by a penknife. She walked to her desk and pulled out one of the drawers, where yesterday she had placed two hundred dollars in eash which she had just drawn from the bank, intending to give one hundred anonymously to the children's home in which she was interested, and use the other for some trifles for herself. The drawer was empty. Before her vision rose the face of her companion of the night before. This was his work then; a sneak-thief, a . burglar, a pickpocket probably. If she gave the alarm, set the police on his track, they might find arid arrest him. He would be recognised as the man whom she had helped to evade the law —had acknowledged as her husband. The whole miserable story would be flaunted forth in the sensational papers; sire could see the flaring head lines that they would give it. She would be for ever disgraced. She into the chair before her desk, let her head fall on her bent arm, and burst into a storm of helpless tears. CHAPTER V. FACE TO FACE AGAIN. “ Well, I suppose I must acknowledge myself beaten; you won fairly, Evan. But don’t be so mysterious about the matters; tell me how you accomplished it?” There was nothing that suggested triumph in Austin's bearing. Anyone looking at him as he stood aimlessly beside the table, turning over the books and papers that littered it. would have said that there was something of an unpleuMat nature on his mind.

It was the morning after their foolish bet, and the two men were lounging in the comfortable Van Aniringe library, after having dawdled over a late breakfast. Austin seemed little inclined to boast of his success, and Anthony, scenting adventure of an interesting nature, was determined to hear the story. Austin sank into an easy-chair with the air of one who resigns himself to the inevitable. “ I might as well confess, Tony,” he replied, “ that in spite of my success I really demonstrated your theory far better than my own. 1 did, indeed, to a great extent, act as you predieted that I would. W hen 1 realised that a policeman was on my track I fest my head completely, and it was entirely due to a set of fortuitous circumstances that I did not spend that twenty-four hours in jail.”

Thon, omitting no detail, he gave his friend a full aevonnt of his adventure. “By Jove. Evan, you were elever. In spite of what you say, I think you have proved your own theory, not mine. But you certainly had your nerve with you, to open your hand and show that woman the pin which she thought you had stolen. Why didn't you bow yourself out with thanks and leave her to guess a bit about the dark secrets of your past life? That is what I should have done.”

Evan had risen and was wandering restlessly from place to place, picking up and putting down objects in an aimless fashion.

“ That is what I slmuld have done, Tony, but I thought she would let me explain. Instead, she was so horrified that she would not hear me. I wish to heaven now that I had kept my own counsel,” he concluded, soberly. “ Well, I can't see any reason for taking it so seriously; you'll probably never see the lady again,” comfortingly said Tony. Austin wheeled with disconcerting suddenness. “ Yes I shall,” he announced, determinedly. ■■ What do you mean ? ” asked the other, moved to the question more by the look in his friend's face than by his words. “ Some day I am going to marry’ that woman, Tony. I feel perfectly sure of it. As we faced each other, and I looked into her eyes, I seemed to have known her for ever, to have waited all my’ life for that moment.* It wasn’t that she Was different or so much more beautiful than other women—though she is—it was that she was mine, my very’ own. Everything in me rose up to claim her.” “ Well, if you don't put Romeo to blush for a slow thing, I'm a fool. He at least knew the lady by sight and reputation, I think, before he tossed his heart into her lap on a first meeting; but you—why, you don’t even know whether she is married or ' single. For my part, 1 think she is married, and that the man who drove up later and used a latch-key is her* husband. That seems as plain as can be. “ And don't you remember that she didn't take the trouble to open her eyes when you stumbled into the carriage? That's the way’ a woman treats her husband, and he is the only man she does treat so,’’ concluded Van Amringe cynically. Austin put down the frail trifle which he held in his hand with such force that only a miracle saved it from being shattered to fragments. “ Look here, Evan, in your agitation you needn’t smash the mantel ornaments. Mother has a weakness for keeping them whole,” gibed his friend. “I don’t believe she is married.” Austin's voice had a dogged sound, as if he strove to convince himself. “ I take it the pronoun refers to the lady of last night and not to mother.” suggested Tony, but as Austin refused to notice his remark he took another tack. '• I say, old boy, if this; little affair had happened a few years ago you'd have found yourself married now. provided, of course, the lady’ hasn't a husband already, as she probably has. As it is. it doesn't take much to make this contract a binding one, I believe —some registration or something of that sort.” “ Do you know what you are talking about, Tony? Because I don't-. If you allow yourself to fall unchecked into these frequent maundering* you will end in an asylum for the feeble-minded.” “ Upon my soul, Evan, I’m not maundering, though I admit that it sounds like it. What 1 say is true. Don't you know that until within a few years the Scotch marriage held in this State? That two people had merely' to acknowledge themselves man and wife before

witnesses to constitute a perfectly legal unfen.”

Evan uttered an exclamation of surprise. There was a pause, in which he seemed to he thinking deeply, then his lips curved in a whimsical smile and his eyes filled with a look of quiet satisfaction.

“So I am a married man. am I?” He questioned space rather than his friend.

“ Well, you would lie pretty near that if she were not. fortunately, already married,” returned Tony as one who offers consolation. Evan administered a vicious kick to a small hassock at his feet, sending it bounding across the room. “ Why in the devil do you keep harping on that string. Tony? I tell you she isn't married—she couldn't be,” he exclaimed irritably. “You — why you are trying to make my wife a bigamist. It's monstrous.”

“ Well, if you aren't the limit, my boy. I'll give it up. I half believe you are in earnest, that you are in love with this unknown.” Tony’s manner was genuinely puzzled. Austin greeted his remark with a boyish laugh, then with an effort to make his answer light, he agreed. “ I believe 1 am,” he said.

After a moment's pause, in which Tony eyed him wouderingly with a slightly contemptuous expression, such as the unromantic frequently permit themselves toward the sentimental follies of others, Austin lifted his head suddenly and gave utterance to the question which he had been turning over in his mind during that silence. “ Tony, 1 wonder if a woman could love a man enough to take him, believing him to be what that girl thinks me? ” “ The Lord know s, tihe might if sho thought she could reform him. Women are so dead keen on reforming men that I sometimes tliink they had rather catch them bad and make them over to suit their own ideas than have them good to begin with. Feci the creator's joy in the work of His own hands, I guess,” he concluded cynically. “ That’s very true, so far as wine, women, and horses are concerned, but this is a very different matter. A thief! ” “ Well, I should say so! No, I don’t see how she eould forgive it. unless she .Irappened to be one of the same stamp.” Austin made a gesture as if the mere association of such a thought with the person iu mind hurt him. “ And yet, do you know, I wish she could. If a woman could overcome such a bar as that I’d feel pretty sure that she loved me. and not any of the externals that surround me,” he said, soberly. “ 1 never knew before that you were such a romantic ehap, Evan.” - “I don't believe I knew it myself,” returned the other slowly. Tony took out his watch, looked at the time, and closed the case with a businesslike snap. “ Well. I’ve given all the time I can to this lover’s confessional. I have an appointment at twelve. Now. Austin, if you won't go with me, for the love of heaven, don't go hunting up that fair unknown and getting yourself mixed up in trouble. Remember the husband, and have a care.” But this time Austin refused to charge at the red Hag so obviously flaunted for his angering. " I say, Tony, do you value that soarfpin of yours particularly? If not. I'll keep it and you can drop in at Tiffany’s ami select one twice its value and beauty, for which I'll gladly put up. I have a fancy to wear this one of yours at my wedding, Is it a go?” “Yes, keep it by all means. I can’t remember where it came from—birthday or Christmas. or some anniversary from one of my large collection of doting maiden aunts. Uaii’t remember which dr when.” “Thanks, awfully, old man. for I really want it.” exclaimed Austin, gratefully, as his friend with another laughing admonition. ami the expressed fear that from the present outlook he would soon

need a guardian, departed, leaving bin to settle in a deep arturluiir with a cigar ami a book.

He had been sitting quietly for ten minutes with the book open, yet making no attempt to read, when he heard a feminine voice in the hallway—a tamiliar voire at that.

“ Fell Mrs. \ an Aniringe not to hurry; that I 11 wait for her in the library.”

Springing to his feet, he turned to face the lady of his thoughts, who no sooner saw him than, with a gasp of dismay —

— grasping the bark of a nearby chair for support—she >tainmer«nl: “ You-— you ”

Austin’s face lighted with a somewhat brightness which ga\e it additional charm, lie was about to go toward her, to beg her to listen to his explanation cut short the night before, when he noticed her barking toward the bell, her hand outstretched to touch it.

“Wait. wait, what are you going to do? Oh. please, listen to me first. ’’ he cried, and his perturbation might easily have been that of a guilty man alanit to l>e apprehended and begging for a last chance.

Before his words were fairly uttered her ha ml dropped nervelessly. ** Oh.” she exclaimed piteously, burying her face in her hands as if to shut away the sight of him and the humiliation which he represented, “ 1 was going to ring—to warn them —Mrs. Van Amringe— to have you arrested, but how can I without explaining—telling about last night, and I cannot do that.” Evan advanced toward her. “What need is there for that? Tony Van Amringe is my friend: he they do not know of my ” he hesitated. “ Crimes,” she supplied the word with the righteously indignant tone of one who will not gloss over an ugly fact. “As you wish.” he acquiesced with a bow; “but why drag them into this unhappy business?’’ “Why. why? 1 should that even you could see that. These people are niv friends. Am I to leave them in ignorance of your true character- leave them to be victimised as 1 was?” she questioned indignantly. You a|re a bit bard« don ) yoi| think?” he objected ruefully. “I know things look black for me. but if you would listen to my explanation.” “ What explanation could there be for such acts as yours? '’ Her tone seemed to place him beyond the very pale of hope ” Well, at least, whether you think it or not. there is such a thing as honour among thieves. Tony was my college chum, is my friend, and when I leave here I assure you the plate and valuables will remain intact.’’ Austin spoke warmly, stung in spite of himself by her measureless contempt. “So you were born a gentleman, then? ’’ “ 1 was.” “Possibly even well to-do?’’ My father was counted a rich manA "1 see, and when he failed, perhaps died, you took to this, became a sort of social highwayman, because it was easier than honest work?*’ Austin felt her tone like -O many lashes on his bare flesh. “It isn't So simple for a man brought up as 1 was to earn a decent living,” ho protested, beginning to feel his part and throw himself into it warmly. “And because you couldn’t earn a decent living, which means, I suppose, enough to enable you to hold the outward position which had always been yours, you took to this—this dastardly occupation? Mow niiirh better to have been a common day labourer, winking with pick and shovel; to have had a pittance. but honestly earned.” “I did try that—l assure you 1 did.” If his eyes had not been fixed on the pattern of the carpet she must have seen the gleam of amusement which he could not keep out of them. “And because it was hard. and dirty, ami disagreeable, you gave it up. I suppose? ” This with cutting contempt. ” No, not exactly, only it didn’t seem necessary, so I so I dropped It/’ ho ended lamely*.

*" I understand." Again her tone ■eeinetl to put him far oIT beyond the reach of the decent and the good. He plucked up spirit to attempt a defence of himself.

• They say even the devil isn’t as black as he is painted, so please at least believe that my friends are safe from my tiepredations, and don't. 1 beg you, expose me to them.”

" Expose you! " she cried, almost wringing her hands. ‘’Don't you realise that that is my bitter humiliation, that 1 cannot expose you, after having connived at your crime, acknowledged-you as—as ” She blushed and paled, un-

able to proceed. *’ Your husband! ” He supplied the word, a triumphant ring in his voice, which she recognised and resented in a hot burst of silent anger.

She flashed her eyes over him as if she could do murder, yet as she let then fall again she thrilled, with a feeling which was not indignation. She had met full his tender and triumphant gaze, the very expression which his dream eyes had held the night before, as her dream self had fastened the scarf pin in his tie. The feeling was but momentary, then her anger reasserted itself.

" 1 cannot even make a move to recover the property which you have stolen from me without laying myself open to —without the fear of last night's—without the fear of its being known.” It was almost a wail with which she finished.

” The property which I have stolen from you’ " His amazement seemed perfectly genuine, even to her. but she regarded him as past-master in the arts of deception, and gave no weght to such seem i ng.

" Yes, it is useless to deny that you entered our house last night and stole a number of valuable rings, a pearl and diamond collar, and two hundred dollars in monev." '

Austin dropped into a chair in a sort of limp collapse. He was so taken aback that for a moment he hadn't a word to sav. ■

’ Did that really happen?” he dents tided, incredulously. . " You know, that it did." - : ” Well, if you say that it is useless for me,to deny having-done it. 1 suppose I might as well not try to do so. but all the same. when the police get tj>‘ the bottom ef the affair vou will see that I am

not the guilty party.” "The police will have nothing to do with the matter.” she objected, coldly. “ Do you think that 1 would risk having the theft traced back to you. have you arrested, and the events of last night made public? I’d sacrifice every valuable that 1 possess first." The pride of her as she said this! Austin thought he had never seen her look more beautiful. •’ But. now that 1 have met you, listen to me—grant me this: I have money’. I will sell some of my securities and give you the cash for these articles. You would rather have that than the pearl collar—it was my dead mother's,” her voice faltered.

” My Hod! " cried Austin, going towards her; "you can't believe this thing of me. It is all a foolish, hideous mistake. A man may be a bad lot, yet not bad enough for this. It is a far cry from the scarf-pin to the thing you accuse me of. 1 never in my life entered a house with felonious intent. Believe this of me at least." He was pleading now in real earnest, and as she looked at him she could not withhold a wish that he was as good and honest as he appeared. ” Oh." she exclaimed. " you look honest. I wish I could believe you. But last night—in the carriage you assured me that you had done nothing criminal, only foolish, and afterward ” She broke Off helplessly. ’’ 1 know, I know. I was a fool and worse. But you must believe me this time. You say that the police will have nothing to do with the case. Do you mean that they have not been notified?” " Of course not. 1 have not told anyone of my loss, and 1 shall not. Y’ou are safe enchigh. never fear." ” But you must, you must. You must g.> at once to the police-station. I will go with you. and we will put a good detective at work on the case as well. If I were guilty, would 1 insist upon this? Be reasonable, believe me. Come, we will go at once." He urged bis plea in breathless e.igerJlvss. She shrank baek. "No. no, I cannot. If what you say is true. If I may really believe you, I will speak to my cousin. He will take ma- I could not go now under any eir-

cunistance. for I have an appointment with Mrs. Van Amringe.'* " 1 understand. 1 beg your pardon," lie said, slow ly. “ You don't wish to be seen with me."

She flushed guiltily at his quick interpretation of her thought. “So be it. 1 cannot blame you; but promise me this much, that you will put the matter in the hands of the police at once.”

“1 promise,” she said, and again she seemed to be weighing him on her mental scales.

“One thing more.” He came close to her now, his eyes searching her face eagerly. “Are you married? Was it your husband that I saw returning to the house shortly after I left last night?” "No; it was mv cousin.”

“ Thank God! ’ he cried, fervently, and. catching her hand, before she was aware of his intent, he placed three or four quick kisses on her white wrist. “ 1 shall see you again before long.” he cried, and, dropping her hand, he was at the lower library door as Constance heard Mrs. Van Amringe's step in the hall-way. CHAPTER VI. ON SHIFTING SANDS. On entering the library, Mrs. Van Amringe gave a startled look of inquiry at her guest, who stood in the middle of the room, her usually placid brow ruffled by a frown, her cheeks blazing with angry colour. Her sleeve was pushed back, and she was rubbing her wrist with her handkerchief. Indeed, scrubbing would be the term that more nearly described her action. “ Constance, my dear, has anything happened? You look annoyed, ill. Can 1 do anything for you?” With fussy kindlness Mrs. Yau Amringe took possession of her caller.

Constance laughed awkwardly, touching her hot cheeks with her gloved hand.

" No. no, dear Mrs. Y’an Amringe, nothing is wrong with me, only the day is

"Warm!- My dear, you must be ill. feverish. Hawkins told me at breakfast that the thernjometer registered zero this morning at halfrpast seven. It can’t have come up very much by now." " How stupid of me. I didn't mean to say the day was .warm; I meant the room.”

But even here Mrs. Y'an Amringe was determined to be exact. Setting her goldrimmed glasses . carefully on her nose, she consulted the thermometer.

“ Sixty-five degrees, dear. That is not warm. I fear you must be feverish; do let me get you something. 1 have some little pills——” she was beginning, when Constance, who had dropped into a chair with a helpless sigh of exasperation as the elder woman turned to the thermometer, now cut short her offers.

“ No, no. indeed. I am quite well, I assure you. Possibly I am a little excited and hurried this morning because I have so many things to attend to.” “ Dear, dear, and I have kept you waiting so long. Y'ou must pardon me, my child. Y'ou see. this is the morning the woman comes to manicure my nails, and another to massage my scalp and attend to my hair, and I really never seem to get through dressing until luncheon. In my young days we never had to take all this time to be massaged and hair-dressed and manicured, and upon my soul I think we had much better hair than girls have now. and we never thought that there was anything wanting as to our nails. I always used to cut mine, and no one considered me outre; but, X declare, these manicure women made one feel that such an act is mildly criminal. I feel that it becomes more and more necessary to blush for my past self, and hide my unforgotten misdeeds of the toilet.” Mrs. Y'an Amringe finished her plaint with such a serious face that Constance threw back her head and laughed heartily. and in so doing forgot her anger and annoyance for a minute.

" There, you laugh, but it is no laughing matter. The infinte number of things that a modern woman is expected to do, and all in the same short twenty-four hours that served her great-grandmother for a day. And here I am wasting your precious time when you have just told me that you are in a hurry. By the way,” here a new thought caught her and l>er guest’s haste was as completely forgotten as if it had never been nientioned. ” 1 thought Tony was down here. Didn’t I hear you talking to some one as I came down the stairs! ”

" I found a young man here, a friend of Tony’s, 1 think. He left as you came in.” Constance’s colour deepened in spite of her effort to seem perfectly indifferent. ” Yes, that was Evan Austin, Tony’s old college friend. Fine fellow, handsome eyes, charming manners. Such a fine character, too; so upright and all that.” the good lady concluded, with vague enthusiasm. , Constance gave a little unnoticed shudder. “ Who is this young man, Mrs. Y'an Amringe? I don’t recollect to have heard Tony speak of him,” she asked, for she found herself most curious to know something of the man’s past. “No, possibly not, for they haven’t seen each other for about eight years. Evan’s father was a Western man. lived in Omaha or Denver, or some of those YVestern places, I can never remember which. Just about the time the boy finished college his father, who was enormously wealthy, fost everything he had on a bad speculation, or something, I don’t know just what; 1 never can remember details. Evan lias had rather a hard time until lately. Now he seems very comfortable again and has plenty of money.” "From what does he derive his income? YVhat business is he in?" Constance asked, wondering how he accounted for his newly returned prosperity to these unsuspecting friends. "Oh. mines, or something of the sort —out West.” Y’es, he had been clever enough to take some vague thing like that which would pass without question. "Do you know, Constance, I have thought several times lately of this young man in connection with you; he would be just the husband for you ” the good lady was maundering on w’hen the girl, with flushing cheek and angry eyes, interrupted: “Mrs Y'an Amringe, I beg of you— I marry a man of that sort? impossible ! ”

"My dear, why do you speak of him in that tone? Actually one of disgust. I have never known a more charming fellow,” protested the older woman, warmly indignant.

“Y’es, I have no doubt—l had no right to speak so—l do not know him—but his appearance annoyed me.” Pool’ Constance floundered hopelessly in her attempt to explain her vehemence. “Well, well, that is so like a girl. To take a foolish, unreasoning dislike to the very man made for her by heaven.” exclaimed Mrs Y'an Amringe sadly. Such a sense of exasperation flooded Constance’s being for a second that she was obliged to make a mighty effort at self-control. YVas this man to persecute her at every turn? To be thrust upon her at every instant? It was horrible, monstrous, humiliating, and she would not bear it. "Pardon me, dear Mrs Y'an Amringe, if I can’t discuss matrimonial possibilities with you this morning, but I really am in such haste ” She made but a poor effort at the attempted smile, but fortunately her hostess was not hypocritical. She patted the girl’s hand repeatedly, blaming herself for her thoughtlessness, and murmuring apologies until Constance’s impatience became almost unendurable.

"Let me see, I was to give you the money for poor Mrs Mulcahey’s husband this morning, wasn't I? Y’es, yes, such a worthy case, dear, and you do so much good among these poor people. There aren’t marfy girls like you, Constance. Now, where did I put my pocketbook? I am continually leaving it about somewhere. I sometimes believe the thing actually hides from me. "Now I was perfectly certain I left it here on top of my desk not an hour ago. Y'ery careless of me, too, for I had quite a large sum of money in it, and one ought not to put temptation in the way of servants. Dear, dear, where can it have gone?” During all this time the old lady fussed from place to place, peering with her short-sighted eyes, stopping every few seconds to adjust her glasses, which had a habit of dropping off her nose, while Constance sat cold with fear, a horrid suspicion tugging at her heart.

He had been alone in the 100 m when she entered. In spite of his appearance to her that there was honour even among thieves, and that he would leave the plate and valuables of the Y’an Amringe household untouched, had he taken the pocketbook?

It must have been a keen temptation. If he had, what was she to do?

Could she leave them in ignorance of

the true character of their guest! Was it honourable of her? Did her knowledge and her silence make her a party to his wrong doing? Yes, how could she tell, how confess the humiliating truth of the evening before?

“Ah, here it is at last, and just where I put it. How stupid and forgetful I am growing. Age—age, my child. It is very hard to bear,” murmured the good lady sorrowfully.

The revulsion of feeling which Con■tance experienced almost sickened her. She felt like a reprieved criminal, and under her selfish relief was a tiny throb of satisfaction that she need not believe no worse of this man than she already did. This last, however, was such a subconscious thought that she did not recognise it as playing any part in her feeling.

As soon as she could free herself from the garrulity of her hostess she left the Van Amringe house and went directly to her cousin's office. • "Constance, is anything wrong? It is very unusual to see you here,” exclaimed John, stirred for an instant out of his stolidity at sight of his cousin's perturbed face. "Yes, there is very much wrong. John. You remember speaking of the open window this morning and asking Aunt Alary and me if we had missed anything? When 1 reached my room I found that all my rings, some ornaments, and my pearl and diamond collar which I wore last night had been taken from my jewelbox, besides two hundred dollars, which I drew from the bank yesterday.”

'lmpossible, Constance! Why didn't you tell me at once, before I left the house!”

"I didn’t discover it until after you had gone.” Fortunately this was true. "But since that time, where have you been? It is twelve o’clock now. You should have telephoned me at once; there shouldn't have been a minute wasted. Every instant counts in a case like this,” he protested vehemently.

"If that is'so, don't waste any* more time scolding me. John, but get the matter in the hands of the police at once,” retorted Constance severely, and so used was her long-suffering cousin to being bullied by her that he turned to the business in hand, feeling, in soma vague way, as if he were to blame for the delay.

After Constance had given him a description of the lost articles and all the

information which, she had to offer, which was little enough beyond the mere fact of the loss, her cousin put her in a carriage and she drove home to a late luncheon, feeling tired* and very cross. She had scarcely settled herself before a bright, open fire in her sittingroom when the parlormaid entered, bringing a box. A glance proclaimed it. from a florist shop, and Constance guessed its sender before it was placed in her hands. She waited until the maid left the room before untying the string, then she lifted out a great bunch of roses. Underneath. damp with the contact of the moist flowers, lay an envelope. Constance eyed as if it were a coiled serpent. It bore her name, written in a bold and rather fine hand. For an instant she thought to toss the flowers and note into the flames and try to forget both, but curiosity whispered that they might have come from some other source —and she laid the roses in her lap, and tore open the envelope. The enclosure had no address and no signature. “You are good to the poor and the miserable: cannot your gentle charity extend even to sueh a sinner as 11- At least, until it is proved, believe that 1 am not quite as bad as you thought me.” CHAPTER VII. THE EXPLOSION OF A BOMB. The two weeks which followed .the burglary of the house in Fifty-Sixtli-etreet were anything but agreeable.for its inmates. As soon as the police were made aware of the theft they began to appear about the place at all hours, asking endless questions both of the up stairs and under-stair's- dwellers. Thev insisted, moreover, on searching the belongings of every servant in tlie house, which caused much sniffing and injured inno eiice among tjiem. to say nothing of martyred bearing and declarations that never before had they been called on to endure such indignity.

“My dear Constance,” declared Mrs Penniman, toward the end of the first uncomfortable week, "if this state of things keeps on 1 shall be down with nervous prostration. If the thief is not apprehended soon 1 propose to have my trunks packed and start for Florida. I simply eannot endure any longer the apologetic attitude which 1 have held toward my servants since this thing happened. "Now, there is Jane, she has been a perfectly invaluable maid until now, but 1 believe she will put me out of my mind before she gets through. She sniffs as she lays out my things, she sniffs as she prepare my bath, and she sniffs still more loudly as she does my hair. Dear, dear, I don't know what 1 sh ill do if I am forced to dismiss Jane.”

Constance sighed heavily, but made no answer. She had felt the disagreeable atmosphere of the house far more keenly than her aunt, for she ha 1 enough real sympathy with the servants’ position to understand their feelings. More than once she had tried to make it clear to them that none of the household Suspected them, and that it was but a usual form which the police insisted upon at sueh times. Of all the servants the butler was the only one who took a cheerful and reasonable view of the situation. He willingly permitted his belongings to be searched, jested with the officers, and showed them places which they seemed likely* to overlook, and in every way* conducted himself with .Ml unlerstanding of the situation most grateful to his employers. “I tries to make these foolish maids understand, miss, that there ain’t nothin’ personal in all this searchin’ and questionin’, and that we ought to be thankful for it, for it lets us go free of suspicion; but it ain’t much good talkin’ to women folks —askin’ your pardon, miss, but the females of my class ain't got but mighty little sense.” This to Constance as she sat alone over a late breakfast one morning, and Mason moved dexterously about, serving her and soothing her feelings at the same time.

Yet it is possible that in spite of the man's sensible manlier of viewing annoying circumstances, they* had really worked on him more than he realised himself; at least, so the family regretfully concluded, when about ten days after the robbery* Mason, always the quintessence of respectful servility, suddenly burst forth to Mrs Penniman in a speech of sueh unpardonable impertinence that he was instantly dismissed, leaving the house within a few hours. During this ten days Constance had been out constantly in the evening, for the winter was at its gayest. It seemed to her that she rarely failed to catch a glimpse of the man who had become for her a sort of spectre. She saw him at several receptions amt dances, and on three occasions at the opera. At no time did he make an attempt to seek her out or speak to her, and for this she was so thankful that her gratitude almost caused her to hold toward him a little glow of kindliness. On one of the evenings at the opera, for a short time she believed that he was coming to her, and she sat with thumping heart for fully ten minutes fearfully watching the door of their box. She had seen him across the house with Tony Van Amringe. They had wandered into the Knellet-Brown’s box for a few minutes, and Tony, catching her eye, had sent her a beaming smile and bow—for they were the best of friends at all times, and she had felt of late that he was strangely- neglecting her. she saw Austin speak to Tony and look toward the box in which she sat. A moment later they left the KnelletBrowns’, and siie found herself shrinking and palpitating at the thought that they were coming to her. Yet, strange as it may appear, when ten minutes passed and they did ' not turn up.'she felt vaguely disconcerted and caught herself wondering where they were. When the curtain rose on the last act of “Romeo and Juliet” she gave but scant attention to the dying woes of the two young lovers. Every time that Constance saw Austin at a reception, or the opera, or read in the society column of the paper of his being one of some gay party, she caught herself searching for accounts of mysterious robberies among the people whose society he frequented. It was somewhat of a puzzle to her that Hb-

thing of the sort occurred, and she began to wonder if the social highwayman had his operations because he was visiting in the house of his friend. She regarded him a litjle more leniently for this supposed bit of decent feeling.

Then came the startling but welcome intelligence from police headquarters that the thief bad been taken and her jewellery recovered. The startling part of the intelligence lay in the fact that the thief was no other than their much regretted amiable butler, Mason. The police had suspected him from the first And had had him shadowed.

After his sudden departure Mason went directly to tv pal who had taken the plunder on Hie night of the robbery. Both men were arrested, and after "a long search the articles were discovered in a secret hiding-place in their .-oom.

At last it seemed that life could once more settle to its old quiet routine and that night of humiliation, so burned into Constance’s proud spirit, be forgotten. She heard through Mrs Van Amringe that Austin expected to leave New York shortly, and she looked forward eagerly to this time as a final closing of a very disagreeable episode. She hoped that ■when he had passed from her sight she ■would cease to think about him as she Bo constantly found herself doing.

Possibly it was her inability to reconcile the thing he seemed with the thing he was that kept him so continually in her mind. Whatever it was. she resented his presence in town and longed to be free from him in thought as well as in bodily nearness. But before this happy slate was ever brought about, something in the nature of a bomb exploded at poor Constance’s very feet, scattering all hope of the oblivion to which she intended to consign this most annoying young man. As once before, it came in the shape of a florist box, blit this time there was no suspicion of its donor, and without hesitation, indeed with the pleasurable sensation every woman feels under such circumstances, she opened the box. Even when she gazed down at the delicate loveliness of the huge bunch of lilies of

the valley she did not suspect the source of the gift; not until she lifted the Howers and saw beneath a sealed note, directed in a hand too characteristic to be forgotten, did she realise that again Austin had dared to write to her. Tn her flurry the flowers fell, scattering loosely over the carpet. While the maid was busy gathering them up. Constance tore open the note, frowning slightly as she did so. As she read her frown changed to a look of dismay, of actual fright. As before, the communication was without address or signature. It ran: .“At last the mystery of the burglary is cleared up and I feel free to approach you. I have something very strange to tell you. something of which at the time of its occurrence I was entirely unaware myself. Do you know that on the night when you saved me from my folly”— Constance smiled at the euphemism of the expression—“by allowing the claim which I put forward that you were mv wife, we actually became man ; nd wife’ and that after some very slight formality of registration has been attended to, our union will be as legal by the law of this State as if we had been united by a bishop?

“I want to talk to you concerning it. Is it asking too much to hope that you will meet me to-morrow morning, say at half-past ten at the Museum of Fine Arts? 1 will wait for you in the gallery at the head of the main stairway. Do not refuse me, I beg; you will regret it if you do.” Constance stood staring fixed'y at the paper in her hands, a sudden horror- of her position turning her cold with apprehension. “You will regret it if you do.” That was a threat. She understood it; it was a scheme to blackmail her, and she was at his mercy. In spite of his claim that there was honour among thieves, he was showing himself in a light that even a thief might repudiate. In the midst of her anger, disgust, and consternation, she realised that all unconsciously she had been rubbing out the deeper black lines

in which his character bad first apjieared. and substituting lighter ones. It was through her feeling of disappointment that this knowledge was pushed home on her. "Shall I put the flowers in water, Miss Constance?” The maid’s voice startled her from her painful train of thought, and she noticed for the first time that the girl had finished gathering up the scattered lilies and stood waiting her mistress’s direction.

“No.” Constance’s voice had the ring of a tragedy queen, as with outstretched hand she pointed to the lied of glowing coals in the grate. “Throw them there.”

“Oh, Miss Constance, if you don’t care for them we would like to have them down-stairs.”

But the maid knew that her request was refused before she heard her mistress's commanding tone a second time. "Do as 1 bid—throw them in the fire,

and go.” This time there was no demur, for the servants of the house were little used to being commanded in such haughty fashion by the girl who was generally both gentle and considerate with them. Tire heap of green and white loveliness was hastily tossed on the burning coals, where it spluttered and crackled, and after sending out a dull, thick smoke for a while, caught fire and blazed up for a brief instant until reduced to a few white ashes. Constance stood watching the tender things writhe in the fierce heat as if the sight gave her pleasure.

(Concluded next week.)