ive my curiosity!"

Courtlandt held out his cup to Rao. "I am glad to see you again."

"Ah, Sahib!"

The little Frenchwoman was torn with curiosity and repression. She wanted
to know what causes had produced this unusual drama which was unfolding
before her eyes. To be presented with effects which had no apparent causes
was maddening. It was not dissimilar to being taken to the second act of a
modern problem play and being forced to leave before the curtain rose upon
the third act. She had laid all the traps her intelligent mind could
invent; and Nora had calmly walked over them or around. Nora's mind was
Celtic: French in its adroitness and Irish in its watchfulness and
tenacity. And now she had set her arts of persuasion in motion (aided by a
piquant beauty) to lift a corner of the veil from this man's heart.
Checkmate!

"I should like to help you," she said, truthfully.

"In what way?"

It was useless, but she continued: "She does not know that you went to
Flora Desimone's that night."

"And yet she sent you to watch me."

"But so many things happened afterward that she evidently forgot."

"That is possible."

"I was asleep when the pistol went off. Oh, you must believe that it was
purely accidental! She was in a terrible state until morning. What if she
had killed you, what if she had killed you! She seemed to hark upon that
phrase."

Courtlandt turned a sober face toward her. She might be sincere, and then
again she might be playing the first game over again, in a different
guise. "It would have been embarrassing if the bullet had found its mark."
He met her eyes squarely, and she saw that his were totally free from
surprise or agitation or interest.

"Do you play chess?" she asked, divertingly.

"Chess? I am very fond of that game."

"So I should judge," dryly. "I suppose you look upon me as a meddler.
Perhaps I am; but I have nothing but good will toward you; and Nora would
be very angry if she knew that I was discussing her affairs with you. But
I love her and want to make her happy."

"That seems to be the ambition of all the young men, at any rate."

Jealousy? But the smile baffled her. "Will you be here long?"

"It depends."

"Upon Nora?" persistently.

"The weather."

"You are hopeless."

"No; on the contrary, I am the most optimistic man in the world."

She looked into this reply very carefully. If he had hopes of winning Nora
Harrigan, optimistic he certainly must be. Perhaps i