she remembered the
girl in black.

Lately, however, that anxiety had been almost entirely allayed. And
her comparative peace of mind had come about in an unexpected manner.

For, one morning, entering the local Red Cross quarters, where for
several hours she was accustomed to sew, she encountered Mrs.
Speedwell and her lively daughter, Connie--her gossiping informants
concerning her son's appearance at Delmonico's with the mysterious
girl in black.

"Well, what do you suppose, Helen?" said Mrs. Speedwell, mischievously.
"Jim's pretty mystery in black is here!"

"Here?" repeated Mrs. Shotwell, flushing and looking around her at the
rows of prophylactic ladies, all sewing madly side by side.

"Yes, and she's prettier even than I thought her in Delmonico's,"
remarked Connie. "Her name is Palla Dumont, and she's a friend of
Leila Vance."

* * * * *

During the morning, Mrs. Shotwell found it convenient to speak to
Leila Vance; and they exchanged a pleasant word or two--merely the
amiable civilities of two women who recognise each other socially as
well as personally.

And it happened in that way, a few days later, that Helen Shotwell met
this pretty friend of Leila Vance--Palla Dumont--the girl in black.

And Palla had looked up from her work with her engaging smile, saying:
"I know your son, Mrs. Shotwell. Is he quite well? I haven't seen him
for such a long time."

And instantly the invisible antennae of these two women became busy
exploring, probing, searching, and recognising in each other all that
remains forever incomprehensible to man.

For Palla somehow understood that Jim had never spoken of her to his
mother; and yet that his mother had heard of her friendship with her
son.

And Helen knew that Palla was quietly aware of this, and that the
girl's equanimity remained undisturbed.

Only people quite sure of themselves preserved serenity under the
merciless exploration of the invisible feminine antennae. And it was
evident that the girl in black had nothing to conceal from her in
regard to her only son--whatever that same son might think he ought to
make an effort to conceal from his mother.

To herself Helen thought: "Jim has had his wings singed, and has fled
the candle."

To Palla she said: "Mrs. Vance tells me such interesting stories of
your experiences in Russia. Really, it's like a charming romance--your
friendship for the poor little Grand Duches