“And your calling yourself Mrs. Gardner--is that, too, a part of your plan?” “Yes--to the extent that I am temporarily using it to hide behind. Now you must go--please!” “Good-bye--I won’t bother you any further.” Sick, bewildered, and with as great a fear as when he entered, Clifford started out. But at that moment there was a ring at the doorbell. “Why didn’t you go before!” cried Mary; and then, seizing his arm, “Wait, you mustn’t go now!” “Why?” “It would be misunderstood.” “Then you know who that is?” “Yes.” “Is it Peter Loveman?” “No.” Her dark eyes gazed at him very straight; she spoke rapidly. “You are an old acquaintance--you met me in Paris before the war broke out--that’s all you really know about me. Except that my name is Mary Regan.” “I’ll play the part,” said Clifford. “Sit there by the window.” Clifford obeyed, more dazed than ever, and wonderingly watched Mary. She stood in the middle of the room, tensely composed. The maid had answered the bell, and Clifford now heard a man’s voice in the hall--a familiar voice. The next moment the visitor was through the doorway, and Clifford beheld that likable young man-about-town, Jack Morton. But Jack Morton saw only Mary, and his face flushed with delight. “Mary!” he cried and crossed to her with open arms. Without hesitation she stepped forward and her lips met his. Clifford experienced such a swift onrush of dizziness and sickness that he barely kept his seat. After a moment Mary drew away from Morton. “Jack, I want to introduce an old acquaintance to you--Mr. Clifford.” “Bob Clifford--you here!” cried Morton. “You know Miss Regan?” Clifford remembered his lines. “I met Miss Regan in Paris before the outbreak of the war.” Mary held her pale face steadily upon Clifford. “I suppose, Jack, Mr. Clifford might as well know the truth.” “After what he’s seen I guess he knows it.” Young Morton, a glowing smile on his pleasant face, held out his hand. “Congratulate me, Bob!” Clifford took the hand. “You--you are married?” “We are going to be--as soon as it’s safe.” “Safe?” “You see my--” “Mr. Clifford does not need to know that,” Mary quickly interrupted. “Why--” Clifford stared; gulped. “I did not even know you were acquainted.” “We were not, till three months ago.” Morton grinned happily. He slipped his arm about Mary and Mary allowed it to remain. “Remember my telling you the other night about my being away, far from the madding crowd?--in a place where they don’t raise a thing but isolation? Well, that’s where I met Mary--at Pine Mountain Lodge. Wasn’t that some coincidence, Bob?” Clifford agreed that it was. He looked searchingly at Mary; but her pale, proud face met his eyes with a steadfast gaze that was blank of any offer to apologize or explain.