would, in all probability, refrain from disclosing this
fact to The Laird in any future conversations.

Reasoning further, Daney concluded there would be no future
conversations. The Laird, following his usual custom of refraining
from discussing a subject already settled to his satisfaction, could
be depended upon to avoid a discussion of any kind with Nan Brent in
future, for such discussions would not be to his interest, and he was
singularly adept in guarding that interest.

His cogitations were interrupted by a telephone-call from Mrs. McKaye.
The good soul's first gust of resentment having passed, she desired to
thank him for his timely warning and to assure him that, on the
subject of that transcontinental telephone-conversation she and her
daughters could be depended upon to remain as silent as the Sphinx.

This information relieved Mr. Daney greatly. "After all," he confided
to the cuspidor, "it is up to the girl whether we fish or cut bait.
But then, what man in his senses can trust a woman to stay put.
Females are always making high dives into shoal water, and those
tactless McKaye women are going to smear everything up yet. You wait
and see."

The longer Mr. Daney considered this situation, the more convinced did
he become that mischief was brewing. Did not periods of seraphic calm
always precede a tornado? In the impending social explosion, a few
hard missiles would most certainly come his way, and in a sudden agony
of apprehension and shame because he had told The Laird a half-truth,
he sprang to his feet, resolved to seek old Hector, inform him that
Mrs. McKaye had compromised the family, and thus enable him to meet
the issue like a gentleman. But this decision was succeeded by the
reflection that perhaps this action would merely serve to precipitate
a situation that might not be evolved in the ordinary course of
affairs. Furthermore, he could not afford to betray Mrs. McKaye on the
mere suspicion that, sooner or later, she would betray herself, for
this would savor of too much anxiety to save his own skin at her
expense. "I'm a singularly unhappy old duffer," he groaned and kicked
his inoffending waste-basket across the office. "The females! The
mischief-making, bungling, thoughtless, crazy females! There are
millions of wonderful, angelic women in this terrible world, but what
I want to know is: Where the Sam Hill do they hide themselves?"

XXXV

Nan did not remain at the hospital more th