scribbled carelessly upon the face of the ace of diamonds.

"May I see you?" it ran. "I am still in the library. If you like,
I'll come up."

She came to the library, frankly surprised. Carl rarely saw fit to
apologize or seek advice.

With his ready gallantry, habitually colored by a subtle sex-mockery,
Carl rose, drew a chair for her and leaned against the mantel, smiling.

"I'm sorry," said he civilly, "I'm sorry Starrett so far forgot
himself."

"So am I," said Diane. "Bacchanalian tableaus are not at all to my
liking."

"Nor mine," admitted Carl. "As an aesthete I must own that Starrett is
too fat for a really graceful villain. I fancied you were indefinitely
domiciled at the farm. Aunt Agatha has been fussing--"

"I was," nodded Diane. "A whim of mine brought me home."

Carl dropped easily into a chair and glanced at his cousin's profile.
The delicate oval of her face was firelit; her night-black hair one
with the deeper shadows of the room. There was mystery in the lovely
dusk of Diane's eyes--and discontent--and something mute and wistful
crying for expression.

"I've a proposition to make," said Carl lightly. "It's partly