ked--stop attacking us?"

"Yes. Yes!"

Lucille gave her the money.

There were no lights in the bedroom. Lucille, for fear of stumbling or
making a noise, stood to one side of the door-frame, close to the wall.

Mrs. Brace's footsteps stopped. There was the click of the opening
door. Then, there came to Lucille the high-pitched, querulous voice
which she had been afraid she would hear.

It was her father's.

XVII

"THE WHOLE TRUTH"

"Mrs. Brace, good evening.--May I come in?"

Then followed the sound of footsteps, and the closing of the door.

"I shan't detain you long, Mrs. Brace." They were still in the hall.
"May I come in?"

"Certainly." The tardy assent was the perfection of indifference.

They entered the living room. Lucille, without using her eyes, knew that
her father was standing just within the doorway, glancing around with
his slight squint, working his lips nervously, his head thrust forward.

"Ah-h!" his shrill drawl, although he kept it low, carried back to
Lucille. "All alone--may I ask?" He went toward the chairs by the
window. "That is, I hope to have--well--rather a confidential little
talk with you."

Mrs. Brace resumed her place on the armless rocker after she had moved a
chair forward for him. Lucille heard it grate on the floor. Certain that
he had taken it, she looked into the room. Her intuition was correct;
Mrs. Brace had placed it so that his back was turned to both the bedroom
door and the door into the entry. This made her escape possible.

The relief she got from the thought was of a violent nature. It came to
her like a blow, almost forcing a gasp from her constricted throat. If
she could tiptoe without sound a distance of eighteen feet, a matter of
six or seven steps, she could leave the apartment without his knowledge.

To that she was doubly urged. In the first place, Hastings' warning
drummed upon her brain; he had specified the importance of keeping even
her father in ignorance of her errand.

Upon that came another reason for flight, her fear of hearing what her
father would say. A wave of nausea weakened her. She bowed down, there
in the dark, under the burden of her suspicion: he had come to do, for
quite a different reason, what she had done! She kept away from definite
analysis of his motive. Fear for Berne, or fear for himself, it was
equally horrible to her consideration.

"I admire your spirit, Mrs. Brace," he was saying, in ingratiating tone;
"a