d
have found him to-day if I'd known what to look for in the
telephone-book, or if Miss Frances had been at Mother McNeil's. She
might as well be lost, too, but she'll be back at seven, and that's
why I am going now, so as to be there the minute she gets in, to ask
her what his--"

"She might not like your asking, Carmencita. You must be careful,
child. Miss Barbour is not a lady one can--"

"Not a lady one can what?" Carmencita stopped her nervous swaying, and
the big blue eyes looked questioningly at her father. "Was there ever
a lady who didn't want to find her lost lover if he was looking for
her? That's what he is. And she wants to find him, if she don't know
it exactly. She's working it off down here with us children, but she's
got something on her mind. He's it. We've got to find him, Father--got
to!"

With a dexterous movement of her fingers Carmencita fastened the
buttons of her coat and pulled her hat down on her head. "I'm going
back to Mother McNeil's," she said, presently, and the large and
half-worn rubbers which she had tied on over her shoes were looked at
speculatively. "The Damanarkist is going to take me. As soon as Miss
Frances tells me Mr. Van's name I'll telephone him to come quick, but
I won't tell her that. She might go away again. In that slushy book I
read the girl ought to have been shook. She was dying dead in love
with her sweetheart and treated him like he was a poodle-dog. Miss
Frances wouldn't do that, but I don't know what she might do, and I'm
not going to tell her any more than I can help. I want her to think it
just happened. Good-by, and go to sleep if you want to, but don't
smoke, please. You might drop the sparks on your coat. Good-by."

With a swift kiss she was gone and, meeting the Damanarkist, who was
waiting outside the door, they went down the three flights of steps
and out into the street. The wind was biting, and, turning up the
collar of her coat, Carmencita put her hands in her pockets and made
effort to walk rapidly through the thick snow into which her feet sank
with each step. For some minutes conversation was impossible. Heads
ducked to keep out of their faces the fast-falling flakes, they
trudged along in silence until within a few doors of Mother McNeil's
house, and then Carmencita looked up.

"Do--do you ever pray, Mr. Leimberg--pray hard, I mean?"

"Pray!" The Damanarkist drew in his breath and laughed with smothered
scorn. "Pray! Why should I pray? I cut