t direction; they were about to
board the car for Nice. If you hadn't been gambling, if you had been
sensible and stayed with me--"

"Come, now, that won't wash. You know very well that you urged me to
play."

"You would have played without any urging."

The wine came, but the joy of drinking it was gone; and they emptied the
bottle perfunctorily. To Merrihew everything was out of tune now. Why,
Kitty Killigrew was worth all the napoleons in or out of France. And
Kitty had run away! What was the meaning of it?

"And who is this Italian, anyhow? And why did he run after your prima
donna?"

"That is precisely what I wish to find out," answered Hillard. "The lady
whom you call my prima donna knew him and he knew her, and she must have
had mighty good reasons for running."

"I'm afraid that Kitty has fallen among a bad lot. I'll wager it is some
anarchist business. They are always plotting the assassination of kings
over here, and this mysterious woman is just the sort to rope in a
confiding girl like Kitty. One thing, if I come across our friend with
the scar--"

"You will wisely cross to the opposite side of the street. To find out
what this tangle is, it is not necessary to jump head first into it."

"A bad lot."

"That may be, but no anarchists, my boy."

Hillard was a bit sore at heart. That phrase recurred and recurred: "A
lady? Grace of Mary, that is droll!" As he turned it over it had a
bitter taste. The shadow of disillusion crept into his bright dream and
clouded it. To build so beautiful a castle, and to see it tumble at a
word! The Italian had spoken with a contempt which was based on
something more tangible than suspicion. What was she to him, or, rather,
what had she been? If she was innocent of any wrong, why all this
mystery? Persecution? That did not necessitate masks and veils and
sudden flights. Well, he was a man: even as he watched this cloud of
smoke, he would watch the dream rise and vanish into the night.

Merrihew solemnly spun his wine-glass, but made no effort to refill it.

"I'm thinking hard," he said, "but I can't make out Kitty."

"No more can I. But if she ran away from me, she had a definite purpose,
and some day we'll find out just what it was. I am more than half
inclined to give up the chase entirely. You will see Kitty in New York
again, and the whys and wherefores will be illumined. But if I keep on
thinking of this masquerading lady, I shall get into a mental trouble
w