he library. It seems natural that he
should move softly, cautiously. A supernatural stillness pervades the
lower floor. Frank Lamotte shudders and keeps his eyes turned away from
the closed-up drawing room with its silent tenant.

When they are seated face to face, with locked door and closely drawn
curtains, Frank looks across at his father, and notes for the first time
that day the lines of care settling about the sallow mouth, and
underneath the dark, brooding eyes. A moment of silence rests between
them, while each reads the signs of disaster in the face of the other.
Finally the elder says, with something very like a sneer in his voice:

"One would think you a model mourner, your visage is sufficiently
woful." Then leaning across the table, and elevating one long
forefinger; "Something more than the simple fact of Burrill's death has
shaken you, Frank. _What is it?_"

Frank Lamotte utters a low mirthless laugh.

"I might say the same of you, sir; your present pallor can scarcely be
attributed to grief."

"True;" a darker shadow falling across his countenance. "Nor is it
grief. It is bitter disappointment. Have you seen Miss Wardour?"

"Yes;" averting his head.

"And your case in that quarter?"

"Hopeless."

"What!" sharply.

"Hopeless, I tell you, sir; do I look like a prosperous wooer? she will
not look at me. She will not touch me. She will not have me at any
price."

Jasper Lamotte mutters a curse. "Then you have been playing the
poltroon," he says savagely.

The countenance of the younger man grows livid. He starts up from his
chair, then sinks weakly back again.

"Drop the subject," he says hoarsely. "That card is played, and lost. Is
this all you have to say?"

"All! I wish it were. What took me to the city?"

"What took you, true enough. The need of a few thousands, ready cash."

"Yes. Well! I have not got the cash."

"But--good heavens! you had ample--securities."

"Ample securities, yes," with a low grating laugh. "Look, I don't know
who has interposed thus in our favor, but--if John Burrill were alive
to-night you and I would be--beggars."

"Impossible, while you hold the valuable--"

"Bah! valuable indeed! you and I have been fooled, duped, deluded. Our
treasured securities are--"

"Well, are what?"

"Shams."

"Shams!" incredulously. "But that is impossible."

"Is it?" cynically. "Then the impossible has come to pass. There's
nothing genuine in the whole lot."

A long s