at, Mr. Ingram and a police-agent were
standing on the steps, but nobody else was near. Little Mr. Ingram came
forward anxiously, his eyes humid, and his face drawn with pain and
distress.

"We know," said Lois. "I met Mr. Cardow at Longchamps. He knew."

Mr. Ingram's pain and distress seemed to increase.

He said, after a moment:

"Alfred will drive you home, dear, at once. _Alfred, vous seriez gentil
de reconduire Mademoiselle a la rue d'Athenes."_ He had the air of
supplicating the amiable chauffeur. "Mr. Cannon, I particularly want a
few words with you."

"But, father, I must come in!" said Lois. "I must----"

"You will go home immediately. Please, please do not add to my
difficulties. I shall come home myself as quickly as possible. You can
do nothing here. The seals have been affixed."

Lois raised her chin in silence.

Then Mr. Ingram turned to the police-agent, spoke to him in French, and
pointed to the car persuasively; and the police-agent permissively
nodded. The chauffeur, with an affectation of detachment worthy of the
greatest days of valetry, drove off, leaving George behind. Mr. Ingram
descended the steps.

"I think, perhaps, we might go to a cafe," said he in a tone which
dispersed George's fear of a discussion as to the propriety of the
unchaperoned visit to the races.

They sat down on the _terrasse_ of a large cafe near the Place des
Ternes, a few hundred yards away from the Avenue Hoche. The cafe was
nearly empty, citizens being either in the Bois or on the main
boulevards. Mr. Ingram sadly ordered bocks. The waiter, flapping his
long apron, called out in a loud voice as he went within: "_Deux blonds,
deux._" George supplied cigarettes.

"Mr. Cannon," began Mr. Ingram, "it is advisable for me to tell you a
most marvellous and painful story. I have only just heard it. It has
overwhelmed me, but I must do my duty." He paused.

"Certainly," said George self-consciously, not knowing what to say. He
nearly blushed as, in an attempt to seem at ease, he gazed negligently
round at the rows of chairs and marble tables, and at the sparse traffic
of the somnolent Place.

Mr. Ingram proceeded.

"When I first knew Irene Wheeler she was an art student here. So was I.
But I was already married, of course, and older than she. Exactly what
her age was I should not care to say. I can, however, say quite
truthfully that her appearance has scarcely altered in those nineteen
years. She always affirmed