Clifford was silent for a moment. He had noted that Peter Loveman was watching them from his corner, and that the lithe, dark gentleman he had been closely observing during the evening--his name was Hilton--was now seated at the table adjoining them and was covertly watching Mary. “Don’t register here together,” he said abruptly. “Why not?” exclaimed Jack. “Would you mind explaining?” Mary asked quietly. Clifford remembered himself. Only that very morning he had told Mary that he would no longer try to help shape the course of her life--that he would keep his hands off--that hereafter he would let Life pull the strings of her destiny. And here he was interfering again. “I guess I wasn’t thinking,” he said, trying to be casual. “Anyhow, it’s really none of my business.” Mary gazed at him sharply. She surmised that some idea had been behind his remark; but she did not speak. Jack, whose gaze had wandered, gave a start and cried out:-- “Hello, there’s dad! And he’s spotted us--look, he’s coming this way!” Clifford glanced at Jack’s father, an erect man of fifty, with unchallengeable dominance in his manner which the lordship of large affairs had developed from his native self-confidence. Then quickly Clifford glanced back, and managed to comprehend with his gaze both Mary and the dark man at the next table. Mary, grown tense as crisis approached in the form of the elder Morton, said quickly to Jack in a low voice:-- “Introduce me by another name: Gilmore--anything!” At the same moment Clifford saw her hands beneath the table swiftly remove engagement and wedding rings and thrust them into a white glove which lay in her lap. Also he noted that the dark gentleman had caught this action; and he noted that the black eyes glinted with a sudden light. The next moment he heard Mary being introduced as Miss Gilmore. Clifford watched the meeting keenly. “I’m very glad to meet Miss Gilmore,” the elder Morton said, bowing over her hand and taking her in with a swift, appraising eye. He had a reputation of a sort as a connoisseur of femininity, and what he saw was evidently pleasing to him. “And I am glad to meet you,” Mary returned. Clifford knew her self-control, but he was freshly amazed at the composed agreeability with which she met her unsuspecting father-in-law. “Of course, you know Mr. Clifford,” Jack went on nervously. “Sit down, dad. We were just finishing a little supper. Can’t I order something for you?” “Nothing for me, son. But I’ll sit with Miss Gilmore and you for a minute.” He took a chair, and fixed his gray eyes, trained to penetrate and read what others would hide from him, upon Mary. Clifford tautened with suspense as these two sat face to face. And out of the tail of his eye he saw that the dark man was covertly watching and listening.