er stood immovable and deaf to her pleading.
Incredulity, bewilderment, pity, and despair swept over Patsy's face
like clouds scudding over the surface of a clear lake. Then scorn
settled in her eyes.

"I'm sorry for ye, sorry for any woman that fails the man who loves
her. I don't know this son of old King Midas; I never saw him in my
life, and all I know about him is what ye told me this day and scraps
of what he had to say for himself; but I believe in him. I know he
never forged that check--or used the money for any mean use of his
own. I'd wager he's shielding some one, some one weaker than he, too
afeared to step up and say so. Why, I'd trust him across the world
and back again; and, holy Saint Patrick! I'm going after him to tell
him so."

For the second time within a few seconds Marjorie Schuyler listened
and heard the front door slam; then the goddess came to life. She
walked slowly, regally, across the library and passed between the
hangings which curtained her den. Her eyes, probably by pure chance,
glanced over the shimmering contents of the waste-basket. A little
cold smile crept to the corners of her mouth, while her chin
stiffened.

"I think, Toto," she said, addressing the toy ruby spaniel, "that it
will not be even a June wedding," and she laughed a crisp, dry little
laugh.

III

PATSY PLAYS A PART

Patsy ran down the steps of the Schuyler house, jumping the last
four. As her feet struck the pavement she looked up and down the
street for what she sought. There it was--the back of a
fast-retreating man in a Balmacaan coat of Scotch tweed and a round,
plush hat, turning the corner to Madison Avenue. Patsy groaned
inwardly when she saw the outlines of the figure; they were so
conventional, so disappointing; they lacked simplicity and
directness--two salient life principles with Patsy.

"Pshaw! What's in a back?" muttered Patsy. "He may be a man, for all
his clothes;" and she took to her heels after him.

As she reached the corner he jumped on a passing car going south.
"Tracking for the railroad station," was her mental comment, and she
looked north for the next car following; there was none. As far as
eye could see there was an unbroken stretch of track--fate seemed
strangely averse to aiding and abetting her deed.

"When in doubt, take a taxi," suggested Patsy's inner consciousness,
and she accepted the advice without argument.

She raced down two blocks and found one. "Grand Centr