o call in
Mount Street at half-past twelve, lunch at the Berkeley, where mother has
two women to lunch with her, and a concert at Queen's Hall at
three--quite a day, isn't it?" she laughed.

"Yes," I said. "You are very busy--too busy even to talk seriously with
me--eh?"

"Talk seriously!" she echoed, looking me straight in the face. "What do
you mean, Teddy? Why, what's the matter?"

"Oh! nothing very much, dearest," was my reply, for I was striving to
remain calm, not withstanding my great anxiety and tortured mind.

"But there is," she persisted, clutching at my hand and looking eagerly
into my face. "What is amiss? Tell me," she added, in low earnestness.

I was silent for a moment, and leaving her I crossed to the window and
gazed out into the broad, grey thoroughfare, grim and dispiriting on that
chilly January morning.

For a moment I held my breath, then, with sudden determination, I walked
back to where she was standing, and placing both hands upon her
shoulders, kissed her passionately upon the lips.

"You are upset to-day, Teddy," she said, with deep concern. "What has
happened? Tell me, dear."

"I--I hardly know what's happened," I replied in a low voice. "But,
Phrida," I said, looking straight into her great eyes, "I want to--to ask
you a question."

"A question--what?" she demanded, her cheeks paling slightly.

"Yes. I want you to tell me what you know of a Mrs. Petre, a----"

"Mrs. Petre!" she gasped, stepping back from me, her face pale as death
in an instant. "That woman!"

"Yes, that woman, Phrida. Who is she--what is she?"

"Please don't ask me, Teddy," my love cried in distress, covering her
pretty face with her hands and bursting suddenly into tears.

"But I must, Phrida--I must, for my own peace of mind," I said.

"Why? Do you know the woman?"

"I met her last night," I explained. "I delivered to her a note which my
friend Digby had entrusted to me."

"I thought your friend had disappeared?" she said quickly.

"It was given to me before his flight," was my response. "I fulfilled a
confidential mission with which he entrusted me. And--and I met her. She
knows you--isn't that so?"

I stood with my eyes full upon the white face of the woman I loved,
surveying her coldly and critically, so full of black suspicion. Was my
heart at that moment wholly hers? In imagination, place yourself, my
reader, in a similar position. Put before yourself the problem with
which, at that second,