Charles, "but one cannot hope to prevent gossip." He raised his
serviette to his lips and almost immediately resumed: "I was
about to tell you, Mr. Harley, about my daughter's--"

He paused and cleared his throat, then, hastily pouring out a
glass of water, he drank a sip or two and Paul Harley noticed
that his hand was shaking nervously. He thought of the photograph
in the library, and now, in this reference to a distinguished
Oriental gentleman, he suddenly perceived the possible drift of
the conversation.

This was the point to which Sir Charles evidently experienced
such difficulty in coming. It was something which concerned his
daughter; and, mentally visualizing the pure oval face and
taunting eyes of the library photograph, Harley found it
impossible to believe that the evil which threatened Sir Charles
could possibly be associated in any way with Phyllis Abingdon.

Yet, if the revelation which he had to make must be held
responsible for his present condition, then truly it was a
dreadful one. No longer able to conceal his concern, Harley stood
up. "If the story distresses you so keenly, Sir Charles," he
said, "I beg--"

Sir Charles waved his hand reassuringly. "A mere nothing. It will
pass," he whispered.

"But I fear," continued Harley, "that--"

He ceased abruptly, and ran to his host's assistance, for the