agitated face from the view of all inquiring eyes save those of the
tall, eager young man who sat down beside her.

"They don't know that I was on the stage, Dick. They wouldn't have me
here if they knew that I've been an actress. I--Oh, I hope--"

"Brace up, darling! This detective isn't interested in you. What
motive could he have in looking you up? Bingle is in the dark, so it's
evident he hasn't hired any one to investigate your past. Forget it!
That isn't what I want to talk to you about. I've been half-crazy,
dear, for the past eight months. Why did you run away without giving
me a chance to square myself after that miserable night? Don't get up!
I've found you and I'm determined to have it out with you, Amy. You've
just got to hear what I have to say." His hand was upon her arm, a
firm restraining grasp that checked her attempt to escape. Undismayed
by the look of scorn that leaped into her eyes, he leaned closer and
spoke in quick agitated whispers.

Fully half an hour elapsed before Mr. Bingle returned to the room. His
face was noticeably grey and pinched, and all of the ebullience of
spirit had disappeared. His wife eyed him anxiously, apprehensively.
Slowly, almost with an effort, he made his way to the reading-table,
purposely avoiding the gaze of the inquiring assemblage. His hand
shook perceptibly as he took up the book and cleared his throat--this
time feebly and without the usual authority, it might have been
observed.

"Anything wrong, Bingle?" inquired Force, regarding him curiously.

"Nothing, nothing at all," said Mr. Bingle, vainly affecting a smile