out of the door without a reply; but on entering the
dark low-ceilinged drawing-room she was surprised to find that Susy was
not there. She was consequently obliged to return to the veranda, where
Clarence had withdrawn, and to somewhat ostentatiously demand of the
servants that Susy should be sent to her room at once. But the young
girl was not in her own room, and was apparently nowhere to be found.
Clarence, who had now fully determined as a last resource to make a
direct appeal to Susy herself, listened to this fruitless search with
some concern. She could not have gone out in the rain, which was again
falling. She might be hiding somewhere to avoid a recurrence of the
scene she had perhaps partly overheard. He turned into the corridor
that led to Mrs. Peyton's boudoir. As he knew that it was locked, he was
surprised to see by the dim light of the hanging lamp that a duplicate
key to the one in his desk was in the lock. It must be Susy's, and the
young girl had probably taken refuge there. He knocked gently. There was
a rustle in the room and the sound of a chair being moved, but no reply.
Impelled by a sudden instinct he opened the door, and was met by a cool
current of air from some open window. At the same moment the figure of
Susy approached him from the semi-darkness of the interior.

"I did not know you were here," said Clarence, much relieved, he knew
not why, "but I am glad, for I wanted to speak with you alone for a few
moments."

She did not reply, but he drew a match from his pocket and lit the two
candles which he knew stood on the table. The wick of one was still
warm, as if it had been recently extinguished. As the light slowly
radiated, he could see that she was regarding him with an air of
affected unconcern, but a somewhat heightened color. It was like her,
and not inconsistent with his idea that she had come there to avoid an
after scene with Mrs. McClosky or himself, or perhaps both. The room was
not disarranged in any way. The window that was opened was the casement
of the deep embrasured one in the rear wall, and the light curtain
before it still swayed occasionally in the night wind.

"I'm afraid I had a row with your aunt, Susy," he began lightly, in his
old familiar way; "but I had to tell her I didn't think her conduct to
Mrs. Peyton was exactly the square thing towards one who had been as
devoted to you as she has been."

"Oh, for goodness' sake, don't go over all that again," said Susy