the
object of her envy, she made the most of it. She soon found, however,
that Alaire possessed anything but an unhappy disposition, and that to
pity her was quite impossible. Mrs. Austin was shy and retiring,
certainly, at first, but, once the ice was broken, she was delightfully
frank, friendly, and spirited.

Paloma's curiosity was all-consuming, and she explored every phase of
her new friend's life with interest and delight. She even discovered
that imaginary world of Alaire's, and learned something about those
visionary people who bore her company.

"It must be lots of fun," said Paloma.

"Yes. Sometimes my dream-people are very real, Why--I can actually see
them. Then I realize I have been too much alone."

"You ought to have children," the girl declared, calmly.

"I have. Yes! Imaginary kiddies--and they are perfect dears, too."

"Are they ever naughty?"

"Oh, indeed they are! And I have to punish them. Then I feel terribly.
But they're much nicer than flesh-and-blood children, for they have no
bad traits whatever, and they're so amazingly intelligent."

Such exchanges of confidence drew the women into fairly close relations
by the time they had arrived at Las Palmas, but the thought of what had
brought them together had a sobering effect, and during their hasty
supper they discussed the situation in all its serious phases.

In offering to lend a hand in this difficulty, Alaire had acted largely
upon impulse, and now that she took time to think over the affair more
coolly, she asked herself what possible business of hers it could be.
How did this effort to secure Don Ricardo's body concern her? And how
could she hope or expect to be of help to the men engaged in the
hazardous attempt? With Paloma, of course, it was different: the girl
was anxious on her father's account, and probably concerned more deeply
than was Alaire for the safety of Dave Law. Probably she and Dave had
an understanding--it would be natural. Well, Paloma was a nice girl and
she would make a splendid wife for any man.

For her part, Paloma was troubled by no uncertainty of purpose; it did
not seem to her at all absurd to go to her father's assistance, and she
was so eager to be up and away that the prospect of a long evening's
wait made her restless.

As usual, Ed Austin had not taken the trouble to inform his wife of his
whereabouts; Alaire was relieved to find that he was out, and she
decided that he had probably stayed at Tad