on laughed.

"That appears to be an impossibility," he said. "They have tried it time
and again, but each time he was too clever for them."

"Of course," smiled Consuello. "It was silly of me to have asked such a
question. I confess I'm a perfect ignoramus about such things."

A few minutes later they left the studio, Gibson offering to convey John
to his home in his automobile.

"As often as I can I call for Consuello and take her to her home," he
explained. "We are both so busy these days we have little other time in
which to see each other. I'm glad I saw you this afternoon, Gallant,
and you may want to know that it won't be long before I'll have some
more real news for you."

As the automobile carried them toward his home, John thanked Consuello
again for having invited him to the studio.

"I don't believe I would have discovered that you are Jean Hope for a
long time," he said. "From now on I'll never miss one of your pictures."

"I have yet to view with complacency the scenes in which she is in the
arms of another man," laughed Gibson.

After dinner that night he led his mother to the porch, telling her he
had news for her. He was glad that he was able to answer her questions
concerning Consuello, although he believed the unpleasant occurrence of
a few nights before was completely a thing of the past, to be forgotten.

"Mother," he said, smiling, "I discovered today what keeps Miss Carrillo
in the city during the week."

Mrs. Gallant regarded him expectantly.

"You did?"

"Yes, she is working."

Mrs. Gallant smiled, as though the information given her by her son
relieved a hidden anxiety.

"And what does she do?" she asked.

"She is in pictures," he answered.

The smile faded from Mrs. Gallant's face.

"In pictures!" she exclaimed. "Then she is an----"

"An actress," he supplied. "She invited me out to her studio and told me
all about how it was while we had tea in her dressing room. Why, mother!
What's the matter? Mother!"

Mrs. Gallant had risen from her chair, a strange, disconsolate
expression upon her face, and had gone back into the house.

CHAPTER XI

Astonished even more than he had been when she first questioned the
propriety of Consuello's living alone in the city, John hurried into the
house after his mother and found her in a chair beside a table in the
living room, her head buried in her arms.

"Mother!" he exclaimed, anxiously. "What is wrong? Are you ill? Don't,