"That is just it," she said, straightening. "My uncle is with him, and I
wished to see--"

"If you will walk in," he said. "You can wait here."

Jocelyn on the instant found no reason for refusing; the door closed
behind her; she looked around. She stood in a library alone; beyond, in
another chamber, she heard voices--her uncle's, John Steele's.

* * * * *




CHAPTER XXIII

PAST AND PRESENT


And yet those tones were not exactly like John Steele's; they sounded
familiar, yet different. What made the difference? His recent illness?
The character of what he was saying, the fact that he represented
himself, not another, in this case? He was speaking quickly, clearly,
tersely. Very tersely, thought the girl; not, however, to spare himself;
a covert ring of self-scorn precluded that idea.

"Those boxes contained books; yours, Sir Charles!" were the first words
the girl caught.

"Mine! Bless my soul!" Her uncle's surprised voice broke in. "You don't