ngly to her now that she
saw him alone and now that his talk with Eaton had shown partly what
was passing in his mind.

"Where are you, Harriet?" he asked at last.

She knew it was not necessary to answer him, but merely to move so that
he could tell her position; she moved slightly, and his sightless eyes
shifted at once to where she stood.

"How did he act?" Santoine asked.

She reviewed swiftly the conversation, supplementing his blind
apperceptions of Eaton's manner with what she herself had seen.

"What have been your impressions of Eaton's previous social condition,
Daughter?" he asked.

She hesitated; she knew that her father would not permit the vague
generality that Eaton was "a gentleman." "Exactly what do you mean,
Father?"

"I don't mean, certainly, to ask whether he knows which fork to use at
table or enough to keep his napkin on his knee; but you have talked
with him, been with him--both on the train and here: have you been able
to determine what sort of people he has been accustomed to mix with?
Have his friends been business men? Professional men? Society people?"

The deep and unconcealed note of trouble in her father's voice startled
her, in her familiarity with every tone and every expression. She
answered his question: "I don't know, Father."

"I want you to find out."

"In what way?"

"You must find a way. I shall tell Avery to help." He thought for
several moments, while she stood waiting. "We must have that motor and
the men in it traced, of course. Harriet, there are certain
matters--correspondence--which Avery has been looking after for me; do
you know what correspondence I mean?"

"Yes, Father."

"I would rather not have Avery bothered with it just now; I want him to
give his whole attention to this present inquiry. You yourself will
assume charge of the correspondence of which I speak, Daughter."

"Yes, Father. Do you want anything else now?"

"Not of you; send Avery to me."

She moved toward the door which led to the circular stair. Her father,
she knew, seldom spoke all that was in his mind to any one, even
herself; she was accustomed, therefore, to looking for meanings
underneath the directions which he gave her, and his present
order--that she should take charge of a part of their work which
ordinarily had been looked after by Avery--startled and surprised her
by its implication that her father might not trust Avery fully. But
now, as she halted and looked