She was so glad to see him again, although he was a very naughty person to have permitted her to believe him a detective the other night. Yes, her niece had explained all about him after he had gone. Still, she supposed that he meant well—her pet charity was to believe the best of every one. And she was so relieved that all of them had lived through the excitement that she could have forgiven a worse crime than his effort to help under false pretense. She had narrowly saved herself a complete nervous collapse by a few days absence from the scene of the robbery—that robbery of nothing at all except a keepsake of such inappreciable value that its loser would not name its name. Her niece, Miss Lauderdale, always had been a rather secretive, sentimental girl, and had since regretted, she felt sure, the worry she had caused them. “We never permit ourselves to forget that she is an orphan, poor dear,” added the matron. “Irene tries to make everything up to her. Really, she is fonder of her cousin than she could be of any one short of a twin. And I am very glad to have it so. Jane has such a good influence over Irene. She is much older, you know.” “And has Miss Lauderdale no—no brothers or——” the visitor began. “No near relative except ourselves, nor money enough to assure her independence. But we are only too happy to have her need us, to love her and provide for her. She is—” Mrs. Sturgis hesitated and seemed to be choosing her words with a nice regard for the delicacy of the subject. “She is perhaps just a bit strong-minded for the taste of men, our dear Jane. But strength is a splendid quality in a woman if applied in the right direction. Don’t you think so? Perhaps you don’t, though, being a tower of strength yourself. Anyway, Jane Lauderdale is a dear girl—and _so_ dependable.” Mrs. Sturgis _did_ hope he was enjoying to the full his stay in New York. Yes, her daughter would be down directly and it _was_ nice of him to ask the child riding. She did not often consent to her essaying the park. Irene’s daring was her real reason for keeping their horses in the country, although she pretended that it was for the horses’ sake. He, being such a friend of her niece, came well recommended. Miss Lauderdale had told state secrets about him—had admitted at Irene’s demand that he was the most superb horseman she had met in the West. That pronounced him capable of taking care of a woman if any one could. Irene rode well, to be sure. But there always was a risk about a rented mount. And there were so many unexpected turns along the park bridle paths and such whizzing of cars and shrieking of sirens. She hoped that he had selected a safe mount for her child. “I thought some, ma’am, of having Polkadot, my own friend horse, saddled up feminine,” Pape advised her. “But he ain’t used even to the skirts of a habit coat. Besides which, it might have put his Roman nose out of joint to see me forking another. No telling what a jealous horse will do.”