e had some
engagement for that evening, so I did not begin to worry until the
next day."

"Now just how long ago was this?"

"Two days ago. Day before yesterday afternoon."

She looked anxiously at McLean's face and took alarm at his careful
absence of expression.

"Oh, Mr. McLean, do you think--"

He brushed that aside. "And where was it--this reception?"

"At an old palace, forever away on the edge of the city. I don't
remember the street--we drove and I had the cab wait. But it
belonged to a Turkish general. Hamdi Bey," she brought out
triumphantly. "General Hamdi Bey."

McLean did not correct her idea of the title. His expression was
more carefully non-committal than ever, while behind its quiet guard
his thoughts were breaking out like a revolution.

Hamdi Bey.... A wedding reception.... The daughter of Tewfick
Pasha....

In the secret depths of his soul he uttered profane and troubled
words. That French girl, again.... So Ryder had not forgotten that
affair, although he had kept silent about it of late. He had bided
his time and taken that rash means of seeing the girl again--and he
had involved this unknowing young American in a risk of scandal and
deceived her into believing herself responsible for this caprice
while all the time she had been a mere cloak and it had been his own
diabolical desire....

Miss Jeffries was surprised to see a sudden sorry softness dawn in
the young man's look upon her. And she was surprised, too, at his
next question.

"I wonder, now, if you were the young lady who took him to a
masquerade ball--some time ago?"

Lightly she acknowledged it. "You'll think I'm always taking him to
things," she said brightly, but McLean's troubled gaze did not
quicken with a smile.

He was experiencing a vast compassion. She was so innocent, so
unconscious of the quicksands about her.... Probably she had never
heard a breath of that first adventure.

And it was this fair Christian creature whom Jack Ryder had
abandoned for a veiled girl from a Turk's harem!

McLean filled with cold, antagonistic wonder. He forgot the lovely
image of the French miniature, and remembering Tewfick's rounded
eyes and olive features he thought of the veiled girl--most
illogically, for he knew that Tewfick was not her father--as some
bold-eyed, warm-skinned image of base allure.

Sorrowfully he shook his head over his friend. He determined to
protect him and to protect this girl's innocence of his beha