silver-crowded, lace-covered table; he was startled to see in the
mirror, hung with its frivolous load of cotillion favors and dance
cards, his own face convulsed with grief, and turned, appalled, from his
own image. His resourceful brain refused its functions. He could not
guess her movements after that silent, definitive leave taking. He could
but picture her tall, erect figure, outwardly composed and nonchalant,
as she must have stood, facing the outer world, looking out to what--to
what? A mad hope rose in his breast. Would she turn to him? Would her
instinctive steps lead her to seek his protection.

Yes. He must be where she could find him; he must be within reach. It
could not be that she would pass thus silently into some unknown
life--or-- He would not concede the other possibility.

Turning blindly from the room, he descended to the lower floor, where
the butler, with difficulty suppressing his curiosity, informed him that
Miss Dorothy had answered that she would return to town at once.

Gard hesitated, then turned sharply upon the servant. "Your mistress has
been ill, as you know. We have reason to believe that she is not quite
herself. If you learn anything of her, notify me at once. No matter what
orders she may give, you understand, or no matter how slight the
clew--send for me."

Once again in the street, he paused, uncertain. His eye fell upon
Denning's limousine drawn up behind his waiting cab. Fury at this
espionage sent him toward it. Thrusting his face In at the open window,
he glared at his pursuer.

"What are you here for?" he snarled.