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Patricia laughed at Judith's expression, as she watched François whisk away to the dumb-waiter in the far corner of the little apartment, and roar stentorian commands in indistinguishable French to an unseen source of supply below.,"True, doctor," remarked Jen, keeping his eyes fixed upon the swart face of the other, "and is that all you have to say?","I am certain of it," replied Maurice. "He employed Dido to steal it from you, as you refused to sell it. Listen, uncle, and I'll give you my reasons for this belief," and then Maurice told succinctly all that had taken place at The Wigwam during the afternoon.,On the way home Patricia told Elinor of the suspicions that had been whispered about Doris Leighton's part in the initiation, and, much to her satisfaction, Elinor was as indignant as she had been.,"Ay," thought Jen, as he stood by the bed, "or until the man dies. If he dies without regaining his senses, we will never know the truth.",Mrs. Dallas, closing her eyes, continued rocking herself to and fro, saying but one word in answer.,"I can't at present. The police are in the house; there is a lot to be attended to. Tell your mistress, Dido, that I will see her to-morrow.","Yes, yes," whispered the girl, stepping into the room. "I got out of my bedroom window and escaped from my mother and Dido. I want to see Maurice.","Did you see the Haldens on the train, Frad?" asked Patricia as she and David were talking aside by the studio window while Elinor was welcoming Tom Hughes and Griffin, Margaret Howes and Mr. Spicer, who had all arrived in a bunch, Tom having lagged behind to get a big sheaf of roses for Elinor, whom he admired immensely.,"Dead!" wailed Isabella, catching at the word, "Maurice dead!",Patricia yawned and rose. "I guess I'll follow her virtuous example. I'm really getting awfully drowsy, now it's so quiet," she confessed.,All through that long night he knelt beside the bed upon which lay the corpse of the man whom he had loved as a son. The bedroom of Maurice was on the ground floor and the windows looked out onto a little lawn, which was girdled by thick trees in which the nightingales were singing. The sorrowful songs of the birds, flitting in the moonlight and amid the cloistral dusk of the trees, seemed to Jen like a requiem over the young life which had passed away. The major was broken-hearted by the sorrow which had come upon him, and when he issued from the chamber of death he looked years older than when he entered it. It seemed to his big loving heart as though the woman he loved had died anew in the person of her son..