rently.

"Why, it didn't take you all breakfast time to tell _your_ story?"

"Oh, no; I told my story and Mr. Belknap listened very attentively; made
some entries in his note book, remarked that he would have a report
ready for me in the course of the day, and then turned his back upon the
subject."

"Mercy!"

"He discussed the new opera, asked me if I had seen Neilson in Twelfth
Night, gave a brilliant description of a young French drama by a young
French author, gave me his opinion of Dickens, and looked his opinion of
myself."

"What a remarkable person."

"Exceedingly so. His remarks have quite exhausted me."

"Now, Con.;" reproachfully.

"Now, auntie, don't plead, my heart is adamant. If you don't go and
interview that man for the remainder of his stay I shall order William
to throw him out of my dressing-room window; not that I have a rooted
antipathy for him, he is certainly a clever man, and no doubt a good
officer. But I am worn out, unfit for duty, and--I have another matter
to attend to."

"Oh!" ejaculates Mrs. Aliston arising, "then, my child, I am ready, or
almost ready, to go and inspect your new detective."

Accordingly Mrs. Aliston goes to her mirror, touches up her
dressing-cap, gives a pat here, a shake there, and then ruffling her
plumage like some huge old bird, follows her niece.

Across the hall they find the detective inspecting the little safe, and
hurriedly introducing Mrs. Aliston, and making her own excuses,
Constance hastens away and down stairs.

Down the stairs and out of the house, first because she felt oppressed
and needed the soothing effects of fresh air and exercise, and, second,
because she expected the tramp detective to be somewhere in the
vicinity, and, for some reason, she wanted to see him. In spite of the
fact that she had just declared herself bored, and desperate, and
anxious to be alone; in spite of the fact that she had fled from
detective number two, she wanted to see number one for a woman's reason.
Having quarrelled desperately with Clifford Heath, she was immediately
possessed by an insane desire to hear some one speak of him, and speak
well of him. This man had treated Doctor Heath from the first with the
utmost respect. He was undoubtedly pleased at their chance meeting;
after all might not this secret which lay between the two be a perfectly
honorable one?

In fact, Miss Wardour wanted to see Detective Bathurst, not as Detective
Bathurst, but as the