wooden-looking horses, simpering ballet girls and petrified
prize-fighters, were in reality a delicate tone of lavender and maple
green; that at her writing-table in the sunlit window sat my mother,
her soft curls curtaining her quiet face.



CHAPTER VI.

OF THE SHADOW THAT CAME BETWEEN THE MAN IN GREY AND THE LADY OF THE
LOVE-LIT EYES.

"There's nothing missing," said my mother, "so far as I can find out.
Depend upon it, that's the explanation: she has got frightened and
has run away.

"But what was there to frighten her?" said my father, pausing with a
decanter in one hand and the bottle in the other.

"It was the idea of the thing," replied my mother. "She has never
been used to waiting at table. She was actually crying about it only
last night."

"But what's to be done?" said my father. "They will be here in less
than an hour."

"There will be no dinner for them," said my mother, "unless I put on
an apron and bring it up myself."

"Where does she live?" asked my father.