ll never forget it," murmured Isabella, in what I am obliged
to say was not her society manner.

"I hope to be able to say it," was my short rejoinder, made difficult by
the prejudices I had formed. "When I see your brother, I may be able to
decide at a glance that the person I saw entering your house was not
he."

"Yes, oh, yes. Do you hear that, Isabella? Miss Butterworth will save
Howard yet. O you dear old soul. I could almost love you!"

This was not agreeable to me. I a dear old soul! A term to be applied to
a butter-woman not to a Butterworth. I drew back and their
sentimentalities came to an end. I hope their brother Howard is not the
guilty man the papers make him out to be, but if he is, the Misses Van
Burnam's fine phrase, _We could almost love you_, will not deter me from
being honest in the matter.

Mr. Gryce called early, and I was glad to be able to tell him that the
gentleman who visited him the night before did not recall the impression
made upon me by the other. He received the communication quietly, and
from his manner I judged that it was more or less expected. But who can
be a correct judge of a detective's manner, especially one so foxy and
imperturbable as this one? I longed to ask who his visitor was, but I
did not dare, or rather--to be candid in little things that you may
believe me in great--I was confident he would not tell me, so I would
not compromise my dignity by a useless question.

He went after a five minutes' stay, and I was about to turn my attention
to household affairs, when Franklin came in.

His sisters jumped like puppets to meet him.

"O," they cried, for once thinking and speaking alike, "have you found
her?"

His silence was so eloquent that he did not need to shake his head.

"But you will before the day is out?" protested Caroline.

"It is too early yet," added Isabella.

"I never thought I would be glad to see that woman under any
circumstances," continued the former, "but I believe now that if I saw
her coming up the street on Howard's arm, I should be happy enough to
rush out and--and----"

"Give her a hug," finished the more impetuous Isabella.

It was not what Caroline meant to say, but she accepted the emendation,
with just the slightest air of deprecation. They were both evidently
much attached to Howard, and ready in his trouble to forget and forgive
everything. I began to like them again.

"Have you read the horrid papers?" and "How is papa this mo