"I've been trying to."
He was going to offer to telephone for her, when he remembered the antagonism he had felt for the broker, and refrained until a fuller knowledge. He reassured her, making light of her doubts, though feeling an instinctive anxiety for himself. Then he called up McKenna; but the detective was out, and, leaving word that he would try later, he went for his morning ride.
A little before one o'clock he was in the softly lighted studio of Mrs. Kildair, waiting for his hostess with the pleasurable anticipation of a confidential tête-à-tête. On one thing he was thoroughly resolved—to convince her of the seriousness of his purpose in offering his assistance. As he paced slowly and irregularly about the room, his mind, perplexed by the mystery of the disappearance of the ring, instinctively considering the possibilities for concealment, he was surprised to hear, behind the closed doors of the bedroom, the sound of voices in agitated discussion. He stopped, perplexed, for in his walk about the room he had arrived at a point in such close proximity that the tones were easily distinguishable.
"But I have already made up my mind," cried a voice which he recognized at once as Mrs. Bloodgood's.
Mrs. Kildair answered her, but in a lower tone—a note of warning and remonstrance.
"Oh, what do I care for the world!" repeated the voice, on a higher note. "The world is all against me. I have only one life—I want to live some of it."
Beecher, ill at ease, realizing that he had stumbled on a situation which he had no right to surprise, tip-toed away. Hardly had he seated himself when the door opened brusquely, and Mrs. Bloodgood appeared, saying:
"No, no; it is decided. I'm going. My only regret is that we waited so long."
Two spots of red showed on her dark cheeks, while her head was carried defiant, alive with sudden energy. Beecher was struck with the unwonted brilliancy and youth which the emotion that possessed her had communicated to her whole body. Mrs. Kildair followed her, with the frown of one who disapproves, but who knows the futility of any contradiction.
Beecher rose hastily, emerging from the shadow. The two women stopped, surprised at his presence, considering him nervously. The few snatches of conversation he had heard, coupled with what Gunther had revealed to him of the infatuation of Mrs. Bloodgood and Majendie, made him divine the intention of elopement they had been discussing. His sympathy was touched by the distress of the young woman, and, advancing quickly, he said, with a pretense of shame: