n you stopped in
there on your way home this evening, didn't you? Didn't she tell you
then what I said over the telephone to Mr. Lamhorn?"

"No, she didn't!" he vociferated, his voice growing louder. "She said,
'You tell your wife to stop telephoning Robert Lamhorn to come and see
her, because he isn't going to do it!' That's what she said! And I want
to know what it means. I intend--"

A maid appeared at the lower end of the hall. "Dinner is ready," she
said, and, giving the troubled pair one glance, went demurely into the
dining-room. Roscoe disregarded the interruption.

"I intend to know exactly what has been going on," he declared. "I mean
to know just what--"

Sibyl jumped up, almost touching him, standing face to face with him.

"Oh, you DO!" she cried, shrilly. "You mean to know just what's what, do
you? You listen to your sister insinuating ugly things about your
wife, and then you come home making a scene before the servants and
humiliating me in their presence! Do you suppose that Irish girl didn't
hear every word you said? You go in there and eat your dinner alone! Go
on! Go and eat your dinner alone--because I won't eat with you!"

And she broke away from the detaining grasp he sought to fasten upon
her, and dashed up the stairway, panting. He heard the door of her room
slam overhead, and the sharp click of the key in the lock.

CHAPTER XVIII

At seven o'clock on the last morning of that month, Sheridan, passing
through the upper hall on his way to descend the stairs for breakfast,
found a couple of scribbled sheets of note-paper lying on the floor. A
window had been open in Bibbs's room the evening before; he had left his
note-book on the sill--and the sheets were loose. The door was open, and
when Bibbs came in and closed it, he did not notice that the two sheets
had blown out into the hall. Sheridan recognized the handwriting and
put the sheets in his coat pocket, intending to give them to George
or Jackson for return to the owner, but he forgot and carried them
down-town with him. At noon he found himself alone in his office, and,
having a little leisure, remembered the bits of manuscript, took them
out, and glanced at them. A glance was enough to reveal that they were
not epistolary. Sheridan would not have read a "private letter" that
came into his possession in that way, though in a "matter of business"
he might have felt it his duty to take advantage of an opportunity
afforded in any ma