and although the reports from the detective
agency were frequent and voluminous--as were the bills--Good remained as
elusive as ever. Even Roger, with his dogged insistence that "he'd come
back all right," grew perceptibly less and less optimistic. Yet through
it all Judith came and went with her head high, and a smile always
ready. Since that mysterious morning she seemed to have undergone a
subtle change. Certainly there was no further evidence of the sullen
resentment which Roger had thought he had detected at first. But there
remained an abstractedness about her which was hard to fathom. When he
thought her listening, she seemed always to be waiting for something.
Indeed, he grew quite worried about her, and would, in all probability
have aroused her violent wrath by consulting a physician, had not the
fact of his approaching wedding driven all such comparatively
unimportant matters out of his head.

Imrie came increasingly to see her, and although he never said anything
about it, it was perfectly clear that Judith's detachment had not
escaped him. Only once did he go so far as to voice his thoughts.

"What the dickens is Judith waiting for, Roger?" he demanded one
evening, after a particularly unsatisfactory dinner, at which she had
made no effort even to appear attentive. But Roger could only shake his
head and wonder too ... and in two minutes forget everything in the
world save Molly Wolcott.

The end came one morning, when he and Judith were at breakfast. He was
aroused from his newspaper by a whispered "at last" from his sister. Her
colour was strangely high, and her eyes sparkled. She was opening a
letter. He watched her closely, wondering what had happened.

Suddenly her face blanched, and her hand went to her throat in a gesture
which recalled to him the day he had apprised her of Good's resignation.
A faint little cry escaped her lips. For a moment she laid down the
letter and closed her eyes. Then she picked it up again, and read it,
apparently, to the end.

"What's the news?" he asked, willing no longer to let her inexplicable
demeanour go unprobed.

"It's a letter from Good," she said mechanically.

"What's he say?"

"He says he's been ill. That's why he hasn't been to see us. He'll come
as soon as he's about."

"I see." Roger's tone was lofty. His disgust was profound if unspoken.
He was offended by her manifest reluctance to confide in him, and he did
not scruple to show the fact. Although