ith a kind of resentment.
"It isn't like Madeline to go back on a fellow that way," he said to
himself. "Of course she's had all kinds of advantages over this poor
little thing; but it's small of her not to forget them. I trusted her to
make things sweet; and for the first time she has disappointed me." He
looked at Madeline with a distinct feeling of irritation as she rose
from the piano. Mr. Lenox came and absorbed Lena, whom he was teaching
to answer him saucily. Lena enjoyed this process, and it had inspired
her to a really clever device, namely, to say vulgar little things in a
whimsical way, as though she knew better all the time but wanted to be
humorous. A good many other people have had the same brilliant idea, but
it was none the less original to Lena, and it saved a lot of trouble and
pretense. Norris and Miss Elton were hobnobbing and laughing at the
other end of the room, and Dick followed them.

"Have you been out of town, Dick?" Madeline asked as he came up. "I
tried to get you over the telephone a day or two ago, and they told me
you were away."

"Yes." He laughed exultantly as he sat down. "I ran down to the
penitentiary at Easton, just to make sure that I wasn't mistaken in a
fact or two."

"What now?" asked Norris.

"I've been told that Barry--the lord of St. Etienne, Madeline--is at
last tired of his humble but powerful place, and intends to show himself
the master that he really is by running himself for our next mayor. Now
even this docile city would hardly exalt a man whom it knew to be a
criminal with a record of two years in the pen,--under another name, of
course."

"Is it possible that Barry--"

"I've verified my facts. There is only one man in the city besides
myself that knows this, and he's Barry's closest friend. There'll be a
jolly old sensation in the bunch, when I spring my mine."

"If nobody knows it, how did you happen to find out?" asked Madeline
impulsively.

There was just a moment's silence, and in that instant Norris had a
flash of memory. He seemed to see Dick eying a letter addressed to
William Barry, Esquire. Even while he remembered, he hated himself for
daring to suspect that Dick would be capable of anything really shabby
or dishonorable. Yet he did suspect--nay, more--he was sure; and the
pause, the look of innocent inquiry on Madeline's face grew intolerable.
If Dick would say nothing, he, Norris, must.

"We newspaper men," he rushed in gaily, "get hold of a v