yesterday,"
volunteered Georgie, when they quitted the office. "But, I say, Miss
Jaques, his daughter couldn't be a friend of yours?"

Millicent did not answer. She was thinking deeply. Then she realized
that Beryl Wragg was watching her intently.

"No," she said, "I did not mean to convey that she was my friend; only
that one whom I know well was interested in her. Can you tell me how I
can find out more of her history?"

"Some of the villagers may help," said Miss Wragg. "Shall we make
inquiries? It is marvelous how one comes across things in the most
unlikely quarters."

Vavasour, whose stroll with a pretty actress had resolved itself into
a depressing quest into the records of the local cemetery, looked at
his watch. "Time's up," he announced firmly. "The luncheon gong will
go in a minute or two, and this keen air makes one peckish--Eh, what?"

So Millicent returned to the hotel, and when she entered the dining
room she saw Helen and Spencer sitting with the de la Veres. Edith de
la Vere stared at her in a particularly irritating way. Cynical
contempt, bored amusement, even a quizzical surprise that such a
vulgar person could be so well dressed, were carried by wireless
telegraphy from the one woman to the other. Millicent countered with a
studied indifference. She gave her whole attention to the efforts of
the head waiter to find a seat to her liking. He offered her the
choice between two. With fine self control, she selected that which
turned her back on Helen and her friends.

She had just taken her place when Bower came in. He stopped near the
door, and spoke to an under manager; but his glance swept the crowded
room. Spencer and Helen happened to be almost facing him, and the girl
was listening with a smile to something the American was saying. But
there was a conscious shyness in her eyes, a touch of color on her sun
browned face, that revealed more than she imagined.

Bower, who looked ill and old, hesitated perceptibly. Then he seemed
to reach some decision. He walked to Helen's side, and bent over her
with courteous solicitude. "I hope that I am forgiven," he said.

She started. She was so absorbed in Spencer's talk, which dealt with
nothing more noteworthy than the excursion down the Vale of Bregaglia,
which he secretly hoped would be postponed, that she had not observed
Bower's approach.

"Forgiven, Mr. Bower? For what?" she asked, blushing now for no
assignable reason.

"For yesterday's fri