an chicken," went on Dorothy, tactfully. "We call him 'Abdul
Hamid.' You know the masculine nature is instinctively polygamous."

Harlan cackled mirthlessly, wondering, subconsciously, how Abdul Hamid
could have escaped from the coop. After that there was silence, save as
Dorothy, in her most hospitable manner, occasionally urged the guest to
have more of something. Throughout luncheon, she never once spoke to
Harlan, nor took so much as a single glance at his red, unhappy face. Even
his ears were scarlet, and the delicious fried chicken which he was eating
might have been a section of rag carpet, for all he knew to the contrary.

"And now, Miss St. Clair," said Dorothy, kindly, as they rose from the
table, "I am sure you will wish to lie down and rest after your long
journey. Which room did you choose?"

"I looked at all of them," responded Elaine, touched to the heart by this
unexpected kindness from strangers, "and finally chose the suite in the
south wing. It's a nice large room, with such a darling little
sitting-room attached, and such a dear work basket."

Harlan nearly burst, for the description was of Dorothy's own particular
sanctum.

"Yes," said Mrs. Carr, very quietly; "I thought my husband would choose
that room for you--dear Harlan is always so thoughtful! I will go up with
you and take out a few of my things which have been unfortunately left
there."

Shortly afterward, Mr. Carr also climbed the stairs, his head swimming and
his knees knocking together. Nervously, he turned over the few pages of
his manuscript, then, hearing Dorothy coming, grabbed it and fled like a
thief to the library on the first floor. In his panic he bolted the doors
and windows of Uncle Ebeneezer's former retreat. It was unnecessary,
however, for no one came near him.

Throughout the long, sweet Spring afternoon, Miss St. Clair slept the
dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion, Harlan worked fruitlessly at _The
Quest of Lady Elaine_, and Dorothy busied herself about her household
tasks, singing with forced cheerfulness whenever she was within hearing of
the library.

"I'll explain" thought Harlan, wretchedly. But after all what was there to
explain, except that he had never seen Miss St. Clair before, never in all
his life heard of her, never knew there was such a person, or had never
met anybody who knew anything about her? "Besides," he continued to
himself "even then, what excuse have I got for stroking a strange woman's
ha