sconcerted. "Have
you considered that possibly he may be doing this way--as a test?"

"Test of what?"

"Of you. I mean that, wanting to--to have you with him now, he is taking
this way of finding out whether or not you want him. Don't you see what
I mean? He appeals here to the natural feelings of a son, and then again
he tells you to make friends and learn to like people. Evidently he is
expecting something of you--I don't know exactly what. But don't you
think, perhaps, that if you began a search for him, he would take it as
a sign--"

"I told you that there was no way in which a search, as you call it,
could be begun. Nor, if there were, have I the smallest inclination to
begin it. Nor, again, if I had, could I possibly take the time from My
Book."

She was silent a moment. "There is, of course, one way in which you
could find out at any moment."

"Indeed! What is that, pray?"

"Mr. Tim Queed."

He smiled faintly but derisively. "Hardly. Of course Tim knows all about
it. He told me once that he was present at the wedding of my parents;
another time that my mother died when I was born. But he would add, and
will add, not a word to these confidences; not even to assure me
definitely that my father is still alive. He says that he has sworn an
oath of secrecy. I called on him before I left New York. No, no; I may
discover my father or he may discover me, or not, but we can rest
absolutely assured that I shall get no help from Tim."

"But you can't mean simply to sit still--"

"And leave matters to him. I do."

"But--but," she still protested, "he is evidently unhappy Mr.
Queed--evidently counting on you for something--"

"Then let him come out like a man and say plainly what he wants. I
cannot possibly drop my work to try to solve entirely superfluous
enigmas. Keep all this in mind--take an interest in it, will you?" he
added briskly. "Possibly I might need your help some day."

"Certainly I will. I appreciate your telling me about it, and I'd be so
glad to help you in any way that I could."

"How do you like my editorials?" he demanded abruptly.

"I'm afraid I don't understand a line of them!"

He waved his hand indulgently, like a grandfather receiving the just
tribute of his little ones. "They are for thinkers, experts," said he,
and picked up his pencil.

The agent took the hint; pushed back her chair; her glove was unbuttoned
and she slowly fastened it. In her heart was a great compassion for th