"It isn't old. And it's going to be hard to sell it, because of--of the crime story attached to it. If we could only get matters settled up, and the police off the case, we could close the house and go away. Joyce would go back to her mother's for a time, and eventually, of course, she will marry Courtenay. He's a good chap, and there's not a slur to be cast on him. As long as my father lived, Eugene never said a word to Joyce that all the world mightn't hear." "How do you know?" "I only assert it, because I know the man." "Barry, you're very young, even younger than your years. Try to realise that I'm not saying a word against Joyce or Mr. Courtenay, either, but--well, since your father himself realised how matters stood between them, you ought to see it, too." "I know they cared for each other, but I mean, Joyce and Eugene both were too high-minded to let their caring go very far." "High-mindedness is apt to break through when people skate on thin ice. But don't misunderstand me. Keep your faith in all the high ideals you can, both in yourself and others. What did you think of your father leaving such an enormous sum to Natalie?" "It was more than I supposed, but father was absurdly generous, and often in erratic ways. He probably made that bequest one day when he was especially pleased with her posing, or, more likely, when he himself had worked with special inspiration and had produced a masterpiece." "Very likely. Miss Vernon doesn't seem surprised about it." "Oh, she knew it. He told her a short time ago." "Do the police know that?" "I fear so. And those are the things that worry me. If they think Natalie killed my father to get that money, it is a strong point against her. Of course, she didn't, but all the evidence and clues in this whole business are misleading. I never saw or heard of such a mass of contradictory and really false appearances. That's why I'd rather hush it all up, and not try to go farther." "Here comes Natalie now. I'll leave you two alone and I'll go to see what I can do with Joyce about that clairvoyant matter." Barry scarcely heard the last words, for the mere sight of Natalie entering the room was enough to drive every other thought from his mind. Her white house gown was of soft crêpe material, with a draped sash of gold silk, a few shades deeper than her wonderful hair. Gold-hued slippers and stockings completed the simple costume, and in it Natalie looked like a princess. With all her dainty grace and delicate lines, the girl had dignity and poise, and as she walked across the room Barry thought he had never seen anything so lovely. "You angel!" he whispered; "you gold angel from a Fra Angelico picture! Natalie, my little angel girl!" He held out his arms, and the girl went to him, and laid her tiny snowflake of a hand on his shoulder. "Why do you stay in this room, Barry? I don't like it in here." "Then we won't stay. Let us go out on the Terrace in the sunlight."