quoted the other. “Are you about to become an American courier for the peripatetic Mr. Cook, his agency?”
“Got a chance to go into the Treasury Department,” answered Remsen gloomily.
“Don’t give up heart,” she encouraged him. “Strong young men like you often survive the rigors of that life. Pity they don’t send you to London, where your monocle and your accent would be appreciated. By the way, have you seen your quondam fiancée since your return?”
“No,” said Remsen.
Gloria, noting that he winced much as Darcy had winced, wondered, and turned the talk to other topics which gave her opportunity to revolve the problem of the two masqueraders in her mind. That there was a problem she was now well assured. She took it to luncheon with her, after dropping one of the subjects of it, and came to a conclusion characteristic of her philosophy and worthy of a mathematician; namely, that the figures in any problem work out their own solution if properly arranged. She decided to do the arranging after luncheon by telephone.
She sent word to Darcy to meet her at the studio without fail at five. Then she got Remsen at his club and told him that a matter of importance had come up about which she wanted to see him at her place about five-fifteen. Whether she herself could get through her engagements and be back home at that hour she did not know nor particularly care. Her duties as hostess did not weigh heavily upon her in this respect. Let Jack or Darcy or both reach the place before her; it didn’t greatly matter. Perhaps it would even be better that way.
Furthermore, Gloria Greene was very deeply and happily preoccupied with certain affairs of her most intimate own, which will serve to explain a slight vagueness in her usually accurate schedules, with consequences quite unforeseen by her managerial self. For one of Miss Greene’s errands that day had been to send a vitally important telegram which called for an answer in person on the following day. That the answer in person might arrive that same day she had not reckoned. She had consulted only railway time-tables, forgetting that far-and-swift-flying chariot of Cupid, the high-powered automobile.
ALL things threaten a guilty conscience.
Haunted by the unlaid ghost of Sir Montrose Veyze, Darcy, on receipt of Gloria’s message, fearfully anticipated that some new complication had arisen. Having concluded a satisfactory interview with B. Riegel & Sons (whose representative was impressed anew with her splendor) she reached Gloria’s studio a little before the appointed time. The place was empty. For a few moments she idled about, examining the new pictures, glancing casually at books, and presently drifted to the piano seat.
Insensibly guided by memories, her fingers wandered into the little, soothing cradle-song which she had first heard in that very spot from Jack Remsen’s lips. Long ago, it seemed; so long ago! Once she played it through, and then in her tender and liquid voice she crooned it softly.