the conversation to generalities.

Mr. Peters at last seated the winter guests of Baldpate Inn, and opened
his luncheon with a soup which he claimed to have wrested from a can.
This news drew from Professor Bolton a learned discourse on the tinned
aids to the hermit of to-day. He pictured the seeker for solitude
setting out for a desert isle, with canned foods for his body and canned
music for his soul. "Robinson Crusoe," he said, "should be rewritten
with a can-opener in the leading role." Mrs. Norton gave the talk a more
practical turn by bringing up the topic of ptomaine poisoning.

While the conversation drifted on, Mr. Magee pondered in silence the
weird mesh in which he had become involved. What did it all mean? What
brought these people to Baldpate Christmas week? His eyes sought the
great safe back of the desk, and stayed there a long time. In that safe,
he was sure, lay the answer to this preposterous riddle. When his
thoughts came back to the table he found Mr. Bland eying him narrowly.
There was a troubled look on the haberdasher's lean face that could
never be ascribed to the cruelty of Arabella.

The luncheon over, Miss Norton and her mother prepared to ascend to
their rooms. Mr. Magee maneuvered so as to meet the girl at the foot of
the stairs.

"Won't you come back," he whispered softly, "and explain things to a
poor hermit who is completely at sea?"

"What things?" she asked.

"What it all means," he whispered. "Why you wept in the station, why you
invented the story of the actress, why you came here to brighten my drab
exile--what this whole comedy of Baldpate Inn amounts to, anyhow? I
assure you I am as innocent of understanding it as is the czar of Russia
on his golden throne."

She only looked at him with unbelieving eyes.

"You can hardly expect me to credit that," she said. "I must go up now
and read mamma into the pleasant land of thin girlish figures that is
her afternoon siesta. I may come back and talk to you after a while, but
I don't promise to explain."

"Come back," pleaded Mr. Magee. "That is all I ask."

"A tiny boon," she smiled. "I grant it."

She followed the generous figure of the other woman up the stair and,
casting back a dazzling smile from the landing, disappeared. Mr. Magee
turned to find Professor Bolton discoursing to Mr. Bland on some aspects
of the Pagan Renaissance. Mr. Bland's face was pained.

"That's great stuff, Professor," he said, "and usually I'd like