"Poor fellow," she sighed. "He is in great trouble, John. We hoped that if we got him off here where it is quiet he might be able to forget--Oh, but I am not supposed to tell you a word of the story! We are all sworn to secrecy. It was only on that condition that he consented to come with us." "Indeed!" She hesitated, uncomfortably placed between two duties. She owed one to him and one to me. "It is only fair, John, that you should know that Pless is not his real name," she said, lowering her voice. "But, of course, we stand sponsor for him, so it is all right." "Your word is sufficient, Elsie." She seemed to be debating some inward question. The next I knew she moved a little closer to me. "His life is a--a tragedy," she whispered. "His heart is broken, I firmly believe. Oh!" The Billy Smiths came up. Elsie proceeded to withdraw into herself. "We were speaking of Mr. Pless," said I. "He has a broken heart." The newcomers looked hard at poor Elsie. "Broken fiddle-sticks," said Billy Smith, nudging Elsie until she made room for him beside her on the long couch. I promptly made room for Betty Billy. "We ought to tell John just a little about him," said Elsie defensively. "It is due him, Billy." "But don't tell him the fellow's heart is broken. That's rot." "It isn't rot," said his wife. "Wouldn't your heart be broken?" He crossed his legs comfortably. "Wouldn't it?" repeated Betty Billy. "Not if it were as porous as his. You can't break a sponge, my dear." "What happened to it?" I inquired, mildly interested. "Women," said Billy impressively. "Then it's easily patched," said I. "Like cures like." "You don't understand, John," said Elsie gravely. "He was married to a beautiful--" "Now, Elsie, you're telling," cautioned Betty Billy. "Well," said Elsie doggedly, "I'm determined to tell this much: his name isn't Pless, his wife got a divorce from him, and now she has taken their child and run off with it and they can't find--what's the matter?" My eyes were almost popping from my head. "Is--is he a count?" I cried, so loudly that they all said "sh!" and shot apprehensive glances toward the pseudo Mr. Pless. "Goodness!" said Elsie in alarm. "Don't shout, John." Billy Smith regarded me speculatively. "I dare say Mr. Smart has read all about the affair in the newspapers. They've had nothing else lately. I won't say he is a count, and I won't say he isn't. We're bound by a deep, dark, sinister oath, sealed with blood." "I haven't seen anything about it in the papers," said I, trying to recover my self-possession which had sustained a most tremendous shock. "Thank heaven!" cried Elsie devoutly. "Do you mean to say you won't tell me his name?" I demanded. Elsie eyed me suspiciously. "Why did you ask if he is a count?"