"P.S.—I saw O'Dowd to-day. He left a message for you and the Countess. Tell them, said he, that I ask God's blessing for them forever. He is off to-morrow for Brazil. He was very much relieved when he heard that I did not get the jewels the first time I went after them, and immensely entertained by my jolly description of how I went after them the second. By the way, you will be interested to learn that he has cut loose from the crowd he was trailing with. Mostly nuts, he says. Dynamiting munition plants in Canada was a grand project, says he, and it would have come to something if the damned women had only left the damned men alone. The expletives are O'Dowd's."
Ten hours before Barnes found this illuminating message on his library table, he stood at the window of a lofty Park Avenue apartment building, his arm about the slender, yielding figure of the only other occupant of the room. Pointing out over the black house-tops, he directed her attention to the myriad lights in the upper floors of a great hostelry to the south and west, and said,
"THAT is where you are going to live, darling."