moreover, it was flat on one side, so that when they started to
conclude their journey the motion of the carriage was something
startling--a "rock-a-bye baby ride" Mary Louise called it.

But the wheels turned and the carriage progressed and when they were
well on their way the girl said:

"What do you think of that man, Gran'pa Jim?"

"Do you mean Alora's father, Jason Jones?"

"Yes, of course."

"I am surprised at two things," said the old Colonel. "First, it is
curious that Tony Seaver, a rarely cultured woman, should have married
such a man, and again it is amazing that she should have confided her
daughter and her fortune to his care."

"Do you know," observed Mary Louise, sliding closer to him and dropping
her voice, although there was absolutely no chance of being overheard,
"I scent a mystery in that family, Gran'pa Jim!"

"That seems to be one of your regular diversions--to scent mysteries,"
he replied. "And usually, my dear, the suspicion is unwarranted. The
most commonplace people frequently impress you with the idea that they
are other than what they seem, are leading double lives, or are
endeavoring to conceal some irregularity of conduct. You've a faculty
of reading the natures and characteristics of strangers by studying
their eyes, their facial expressions and their oddities of demeanor,
which is interesting psychologically but too often----"

"You are unjust, Gran'pa!" declared Mary Louise indignantly. "Didn't
you yourself say there are two curious and surprising things about this
man Jones?"

"Not exactly. I said it was curious and astonishing that Antoinette
Seaver should have trusted so fully a man who impresses me as a churl.
His own child, little Alora, appears to dislike and even to despise
him, and----"

"There!" cried Mary Louise. "I'm vindicated. Your observations fully
justify my remark that there's a mystery in that family. Did you notice
the books he brought home and laid upon the table?"

"No," said Colonel Hathaway, rather bewildered.

"They were novels by Marie Correlli, H. G. Wells and O. Henry. A
student? Then a student of modern novels, a man who reads and reads to
keep his mind from dwelling on past history. He is a disappointed
artist, to begin with."

"That is certainly odd," rejoined the old gentleman, reflectively. "The
one picture I ever saw by Jason Jones was certainly good. I remember
that once when I was lunching with Bob Seaver--that was Antoinette's
father,