going to look her up----"

"But, Bob," I remonstrated. "She doesn't live there, and she doesn't
want to be looked up. She has asked me not to--and besides----"

"I can't help that--I shall be doing the looking up. I'll take the
blame," he rather snapped at me.

"Now, look here, Bob, old man," said Will, and he put a hand on one of
Robert's shoulders. "What's the good in it _now_? Don't you see she'll
be hotter than ever on this thing just now? Wait till she cools off a
bit. That's the idea!"

"Oh, it isn't to dissuade her. I don't care about that. It's simply to
find out if she's all right. She may need help of some kind or other.
She's a proud girl. Good heavens, she isn't going to send for any one. I
don't know what we've been thinking of--a whole year down in this place,
and no knowledge of what kind of a life she's had to live. That isn't
right--no. Lucy, if you'll be kind enough to give me that address, I'll
be off."

"I don't believe you can trace her through that."

"I'll see to that end of it." He was really almost sharp with me.

"What do you think, Will?" I inquired.

"Oh, give it to him, give it to him, my dear."

And so I did at last.

Will and I went to the theater that night, and supper afterward. It was
after midnight when we strolled into the hotel. Robert Jennings was
sitting in one of the big chairs in the corridor with a paper up before
his face. Will had gone to the desk to get our key, and I went up and
spoke to Bob.

"Well, hello!" I blurted out cheerfully. "What success? Did you see
her?"

He stood up, and I saw his face then.

"Yes, I saw her," he replied, then with difficulty added, "Don't ask me
about it," and abruptly he turned away, tossed aside the paper, and
walked straight out of the hotel. He might have been in a play on the
stage.

We had arranged to leave for home the following morning. Will called up
Robert's room about nine to find out if he was still planning to return
with us. There was no answer. I felt anxious about Bob. Will felt simply
irritated.

"Ought to have known more than to have gone pressing his suit on a
person in Ruth's frame of mind," he grumbled.

Robert Jennings didn't show up until three minutes before the train
pulled out. His reservation hadn't been canceled, but I had little hope
of his appearance. My heart gave a bound of relief when I saw him coming
into the car at the farther end.

"Oh, here you are!" I said. "I'm so glad you've come. W