sire paused and a painful flush crept into her cheek.

"Yes?" prompted Spence gently.

"One of the lost things was an old-fashioned watch belonging to mother.
I used to listen to it ticking. And once, years after, I saw it. Father
had given it to--a friend of his. So, you see, he must have got it
back."

"I see." The professor was aware of a pricking along his spine. He
looked at the unconscious face of the girl and ventured another
question.

"Was your father injured at all?"

"His head was hurt. They did not know whether the thief had struck him
or whether it was the fall. He had fallen just at the foot of the
stairs. We lived in a bungalow, then, and as I was asleep in my little
room under the eaves, it was thought that he had been trying to reach
me--what is the matter?"

The professor had been unable to control an involuntary shudder.

"Nothing," he said. "Just nerves."

Desire's smile was wistful. "It isn't a pretty story," she said. "None
of the stories I can tell are pretty. That's why I am different from
other people. But I am trying. Perhaps I shall get to be more like them
presently."

The professor banished his dark thoughts with an effort. "God forbid!"
he said cheerfully. "And here comes tea!"

CHAPTER XXVII

One wonders what would happen to our admirable muddle of a world, if
even a minority of its inhabitants were suddenly to embrace
consistency. It would, presumably, be a world still, but so changed
that its best friends would not know it. It is because every-body,
everywhere and at all times, acts as they could not logically be
expected to act, that our dear familiar chaos of you-never-can-tell
continues to entertain us.

Had Desire possessed consistency, this quality so jewel-like in its
rarity, she would have realized that, having voluntarily stepped aside
from woman's natural destiny, she should also have ceased to trouble
herself with those feminine doubts and hopes which are peculiar to it.
She would have known that the position of secretary to a professional
man does not logically include heart-burnings and questionings
concerning that gentleman's love affairs, past or present. She would
have refused to consider Mary. She would have been quite happy in the
position she had deliberately made for herself.

Much as we would like to present Desire in this thoroughly sensible
light, we fear that her action on the morning following her visit to
the invalid Miss Martin would not