thinking deeply, then he said: "So Stafford knew Miss Heron, did he?"

Bertie looked mysterious and lowered his voice.

"Yes. Look here, old chap, I shouldn't say this to anyone but you; but
you are Stafford's great and only chum, and I know I can speak safely;
to tell you the truth--"

"Now you are going to tell me anything but the truth," murmured Howard,
with a sigh of resignation.

"Oh, no, I'm not," retorted Bertie. "What there is of it is the truth
and nothing but the truth. It isn't much. But I've a kind of idea that
Stafford knew our new beauty better than we think. Do you remember how
he used to leave our party and go off by himself? Not like Stafford,
that, was it? And one of our fellows remarked to me that one day coming
home from a ride he saw Stafford riding with a lady. He couldn't swear
to him, but--well, Stafford's hard to mistake. Then, again, how was it
he and Miss Heron were in at Maude Falconer's death; and why did he
bolt off to Australia again directly after the funeral? And why is it
that she keeps us all at arm's length, even that confounded Glarn?"

Howard's eyes grew sharp; but he smiled languidly, as he said:

"You ought to edit a riddle book, Bertie, my son. I think we should get
across the room now. I should be greatly obliged if you would introduce
me to Miss Heron."

"All right," said Bertie, "come along! But I warn you, you'll only meet
with a cold reception; just a smile and a word and then she'll look
away as if she'd forgotten your existence, and had not the least desire
to remember it."

"Oh, I'm used to that," said Howard. "Lead on."

As they crossed the room, Howard's acute brain was hard at work. There
was something in Stafford's conduct, a tone in his letters which Howard
could never understand; but now, in the light of Bertie's mysterious
communication, he thought he discerned a solution of the problem over
which he had pondered for many an hour. Stafford had been unhappy
during the whole of his engagement to poor Maude; he had exiled himself
again immediately after her death, though, as Howard knew, he was well
enough off now to return to England and to live, at any rate, in a
quiet way. If there was anything in Bertie's suggestion--Howard pursed
his lips with an air of determination. If there was anything, then he
would find it out and act accordingly. Stafford's happiness was very
precious to Howard, and in the quiet, resolute, cynical way
characteristic to him, he