“You certainly slipped up!” Sharply Catherine cut into the expression of his “responsibility.” Hers seemed to be for Dolores and the dressing robe which she had worn from her bath. This she donned before going into the boudoir. “You shouldn’t have come unannounced, Henri. Never do such a thing again. How fortunate it is that Miss Trent happened to be with me. You remember meeting Jack’s new governess?” His assurance was remarkable. Low he bowed before Dolores when, in response to Catherine’s appeal, she followed. “And how is mademoiselle enabled to do with the fiend-_enfant_?” he enquired affably. Dolores strove to control her contempt for him. She replied that she found Jack no fiend, but a most lovable child. He must be awakening from his nap about now. Would Mrs. Cabot excuse her? “First, my dear, won’t you ring for Annette?” Catherine made proviso. “And how,” the marquis persisted in the wait, “is the so-famed siren enabled to do with Meester Cabot?” Grateful for the support of madame’s frown, Dolores answered, steadily as she might: “So far Mr. Cabot has made no complaint of my methods with his son.” “She has done wonderfully--_with Jack_.” Catherine smiled at Dolores her innocent smile. “I, for one, am most grateful to Miss Trent, even if John hasn’t shown his appreciation.” “Perhaps he has not--_as yet_--have the opportunity.” The foreigner, too, contributed an encouraging beam. “Just what I’ve been telling her!” Catherine approved. “Miss Trent is so very self-effacing that I fear John thinks----” Just which of the wife’s fancies was about to be attributed to the great brain of John Cabot, Dolores never knew. She felt a sudden and vehement disinclination to hear his possible thoughts discussed before such an audience. She crossed to the gallery door. “I hear Annette coming. I--I’d like to go, Mrs. Cabot. Jack may be looking for me.” She did not wait for the elevator, but hurried up the wide marble steps that led from gallery to gallery to the top of the house. Fast as she took them, however, distressing questions pursued her. What was she to think--how conduct herself? Looking into Jack’s living-room, she saw that the door into his bedroom still was closed. The calm-faced clock announced that it was not really time for him to have awakened. As she went toward her own chamber to wait, she heard the click of the elevator letting someone off at the third gallery, but did not glance up to see who it was. She wished to be alone--to think. Once her own door was closed, however, she shrank from thinking. Rather than force herself to any immediate conclusion regarding the surprising developments of the last several minutes, she allowed her mind to rest, as it were, upon the thought of young Jack.