"So much for trying to put two ideas together into a girl's mind!"
thought Mr. Troy, when he was alone again. "The little fool evidently
thinks I am jealous of Moody's place in her estimation. Well! I have
done my duty--and I can do no more."

He looked round the room. Not a chair was out of its place, not a speck
of dust was to be seen. The brightly-perfect polish of the table made
your eyes ache; the ornaments on it looked as if they had never been
touched by mortal hand; the piano was an object for distant admiration,
not an instrument to be played on; the carpet made Mr. Troy look
nervously at the soles of his shoes; and the sofa (protected by layers
of white crochet-work) said as plainly as if in words, "Sit on me if you
dare!" Mr. Troy retreated to a bookcase at the further end of the room.
The books fitted the shelves to such absolute perfection that he had
some difficulty in taking one of them out. When he had succeeded, he
found himself in possession of a volume of the History of England. On
the fly-leaf he encountered another written warning:--"This book belongs
to Miss Pink's Academy for Young Ladies, and is not to be removed from
the library." The date, which was added, referred to a period of ten
years since. Miss Pink now stood revealed as a retired schoolmistress,
and Mr. Troy began to understand some of the characteristic
peculiarities of that lady's establishment which had puzzled him up to
the present time.

He had just succeeded in putting the book back again when the door
opened once more, and Isabel's aunt entered the room.

If Miss Pink could, by any possible conjuncture of circumstances, have
disappeared mysteriously from her house and her friends, the police