hesitated; "but let us talk of something else," she
concluded, "for the subject makes me sad," and I discerned a little
tremor in her voice that I thought was genuine.

Sometimes a woman like Belle Stanton may grieve, though she must not
show it, and I was sorry for her, but I meant to persevere in my
purpose, nevertheless.

"I do not wish to make you feel badly," I tried to say gently, "but I
want to learn all I can about Arthur's death and if you know any more
than you have yet disclosed, I wish you would tell it to me."

She looked away, as if determining something before answering, and then
asked what reason I had for thinking she knew anything more than she had
told at the trial. For reply, I quoted to her Van Bult's words:

"You will find it is through Belle Stanton that you must trace the
criminal."

"Who said that?" she asked quickly. I told her.

"Oh! it was Van Bult, was it? Well, you may find he was mistaken," and
her tone betokened indifference.

"Do you then know nothing at all that can help us in the case?" I
inquired. She stopped her horse, for we had reached the Fifty-ninth
Street entrance, and wheeling him so that she faced me, said:

"I know very little more than I have told, probably nothing of any
importance, but if you will come and see me sometime, I will help you,
if I can"; but I was impatient and urged her to tell me at once what she
knew.

"No," she replied, "you must leave me here and if you wish to learn more
you will have to come and see me," and turning her horse she waved her
hand to me and rode away.

I sat looking after her just a moment debating over what she had said
and then hastened home, for it was approaching my dinner hour, but the
first thing I did on entering the club was to write a line to Miles.

"Stanton knows more than she has told," I said. "Find out what it is."
And then I made my preparations for dinner.

At eight o'clock I was in the reception-room awaiting the arrival of my
guests, and as I surveyed myself in the long mirror, I felt a thrill of
pleasure at finding myself again a part of the social world.

After all there are two sides to life--the serious and the gay--and we
must mingle them to get the most out of it. For a long time now I had
known the serious side, but the release from the service on the case and
the ride and encounter of the afternoon had awakened in me a longing for
the brighter side that I had no disposition to deny.

When Davis e