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"I promise you," said Jen again. "Please go. Miss Dallas. There is no time to be lost, and you must not be found here." "You accused Mrs. Dallas of all these things five minutes ago," said David, ironically, "and now you think--" Now Mrs. Dallas was secretly afraid of Etwald, as she had received hints from Dido, in whose truth she implicitly believed--that the doctor knew more about secret things than most people. She dreaded lest his visit should portend harm, and so, in some trepidation, she waited for him to speak. But Etwald, guessing her frame of mind, took his time and it was only when Isabella approached with some tea for her mother that he broke the silence..

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"Bill is too young to understand when he is—is being bereaved, Molly," he said, and still he didn't look at me. "I have been appointed a delegate to attend the Centennial Congress in Paris the middle of next month—and somehow I—feel a bit run down lately and I thought I would take the little chap and—have—have a Wanderjahr. You won't need him now, Mrs. Molly, and I couldn't go without him, could I?" The sadness in his voice would have killed me if I hadn't let it madden me instead. "As your adopted father, I demand an answer." "Innocent-looking!" echoed Jen, taking down the green wand. "How can you say such a thing? Look here, Etwald," and he laid the stick on the table. "No, don't touch it, man," he added, hastily, "there is plenty of venom in it yet. 'Tis as dangerous as a snake bite. If you touch this slender iron spike projecting from the end, you die!" "Oh, Bruce, the sycamore you painted is gone!" called Patricia, not turning. "Come and see!".