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"Patricia's awfully superficial, I think," she confided to him cheerfully, as she watched her readjusting her bright hair beneath the pretty hat rim at the quaint old mirror of the bookcase. "She's so set on pretty things. She just worships anyone who is pretty—no matter whether she understands their character or not. I wish we could make her more serious-minded and careful." Patricia dropped back instantly to her usual manner. "M. D.!" said the major to himself. "Margaret Dallas, the mother of Isabella. How did her handkerchief come into the room on that night? And the perfume?".

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"I shall explain," said Etwald. "David found out that Maurice was going to meet Isabella that night secretly in the grounds of Mrs. Dallas near the gates. Determined to see the meeting, and to learn if there was any hope for him, he feigned a journey to London in order to lull any suspicions which Maurice might have that he was being watched. Instead of going, however, he concealed himself at a spot where he could see the gates which opened onto the highway. Now," added Etwald, with a side glance at the major, "it so happened that I also wished to see that meeting." "Mrs. Dallas," said David, faintly. "It was Mrs. Dallas." "You do!" cried Jen, in surprise, "And who told you?" "It is green, with a handle of gold, and blue stones set into the gold.".