There was merriment at Lakemere, where Sara Conyers watched with a secret satisfaction the increasing intimacy of Noel Endicott with the beautiful girl who had so strangely drifted into a loving mother’s arms. For Noel came daily now, “on business”—the road seemed to shorten every day with use—and the guest chamber of Lakemere which he most affected was his real headquarters. “There was so much to arrange for the retirement of the queen.” “I shall let Senator Alynton know privately of Elaine’s projected absence,” wisely decided the sagacious Judge Endicott. “He should have a fair field,” and to this end the old lawyer counseled with Hugh Conyers, now busy and preoccupied. “There is a strong, able, wise man,” said Endicott. “Just the man to make her a good husband!” The Judge was astounded at Conyers’ complete indifference. “I may go over to England soon on a long assignment,” shortly said Hugh. “You might speak to my sister. These are, after all, things for women’s advice. I am no squire of dames. I think of giving up active journalism now.” Endicott then reflected that Hugh Conyers’ face was rarely seen now in the happy coterie at Lakemere. The delicate details of covering all of the tragic past from Romaine Garland were all completed. “I wonder what is the matter with him?” growled Endicott. “I looked for his help to bring about this marriage.” Hugh’s last work had been to close up the “Elmleaf” headquarters, and to direct Bagley, now the head butler at Lakemere, in storing the scattered effects of the unhappy suicide. For Mrs. Katharine Norreys Vreeland had departed for Europe, and, even the International Trust Company refused to disclose her address or whereabouts. Her private lawyer, Mr. Abel Hanford, of the company’s legal staff, declined to accept the ownership of the mementoes of the dead adventurer and guarded a grim and sullen silence. “I am positively ordered not to disturb my client, who is in impaired health, with any references to the late Mr. Vreeland or his affairs. Sell the trash, and turn the money in to me. I will receipt for that!” It was cold comfort. And no further word would the cool young lawyer utter, even to Horton Wyman, now anxious to legally close up all the affairs of the defunct schemer. “Turn the whole thing then over to the Public Administrator!” was the counselor’s curt order. “My client will not return to America for many years, if ever.” In all these strange happenings Miss Sara Conyers was the only one at Lakemere who was really unhappy at heart. She was the sole confidante of Romaine Garland, who now poured out all her secret conclusions upon the bosom of her faithful friend. Romaine had seized upon Katharine Vreeland’s departure as being the closing scene of the veiled mystery of her unknown father’s life.