But Casey was firm. He explained that he came and went at all hours,
rose early, had to be where he could confer with McHale. He insisted on
his fictions, and ended by half convincing them.

Clyde, entering the room he had pointed out as hers, was struck by its
absolute cleanness and daintiness. The curtains were tastefully draped,
tied with ribbon; there were scarfs on dresser and stand, pin-cushion
and pins, little trays for trifles. The bed was made with hospital
neatness.

A moment afterward Kitty Wade entered, looking around.

"Yours, too," she said. "No mere bachelor ever did these things, Clyde.
The Chinaman is out of the question. It is to find the woman."

"We'll ask Mr. Dunne," said Clyde.

But it was not till after dinner that Kitty Wade did so.

"Miss McCrae was kind enough to fix up the rooms for you," Casey
replied.

"Who is Miss McCrae?"

Casey pulled a handful of photographs from a drawer, and shuffled them.
He handed one to Mrs. Wade.

"That's Sheila McCrae. I'll drive you over to Talapus, her father's
place, one of these days."

Clyde, moved by an interest which she could not understand, bent over
Kitty Wade's shoulder. The picture was an enlarged snapshot, but a
splendid likeness. Sheila was standing, one hand by her side holding
her riding hat, the other, half raised to her hair, as if to arrange it
when the shutter had opened. Her dark, keen face with its touch of
wistfulness looked full at them.

"What a nice-looking girl!" Kitty Wade exclaimed. "Don't you think so,
Clyde?"

Clyde agreed perfunctorily. But, looking into the steady, fearless eyes
of the pictured girl, she felt a vague, incomprehensible hostility.
Kitty Wade glanced at her quickly, detecting the strained note. Clyde
felt the glance, and inwardly resented it. Kitty Wade's eyes were
altogether too observant.

CHAPTER XVII

When Clyde awoke next morning she lay for some time in dreamy content.
She was deliciously rested. The cold, clear, early morning air pouring
in through the open window beneath the partially drawn blind was like
an invigorating draught. Outside, beyond the shade of the veranda, she
could see sunlight. Somewhere a horse whinnied. In the house she could
hear an occasional rattle of dishes. She rose and dressed, humming a
song. She felt strangely happy, as though she had attained a
long-sought goal. Life that morning seemed to take on a new meaning to
her; to be sweeter and cleaner, good in