The consultation in the office resulted in Esther Maitland being taken to O’Malley’s flat in Stuyvesant Square, where his wife and sister agreed to be responsible for her. This course had been decided upon after some heated argument. Suzanne had clamored for her arrest, but the others were still determined to keep the affair out of the public eye, which, if Esther was brought before a magistrate, would have been impossible. The Janneys were more than ever convinced that Price was the prime mover, and the girl’s attitude had been prompted by the combined motives of love and gain. George, who knew his father’s every phase, noticed that the old man was reserved in his comments, and wondered if his conviction had been shaken by Miss Maitland’s desperate denials. But if it was he said nothing, agreeing that with the girl hidden and unable to communicate with the outside world, they could concentrate their attention on Chapman and through him locate the child. Miss Maitland was docile to all their suggestions. She would go wherever they wanted, place herself under the surveillance of the two women, and do whatever was asked of her. She went off in a taxi with O’Malley, and Molly was sent back to Grasslands. There was no need of her services in town and it was probable that Chapman, believing his confederate to be there, would call up the place. The Janney party returned to the hotel, a silent, gloomy trio. The old people were very gentle to Suzanne. On the drive up, Mrs. Janney held her in the hollow of her arm, pressed close, yearning over her in her shame and sorrow and feebleness. To the strong woman she was a child again, a soft, helpless thing. The mother blamed herself for having been hard on her. After lunch old Sam suggested a drive—the air would do them good. They tried to persuade Suzanne to come, but the young woman, prone on the sofa, a salts bottle at hand, refused to stir. She wanted to be quiet; she wanted to rest. So, knowing the uselessness of argument, they kissed her and went. Alone, she lay on her back staring at the wall in a trance-like concentration. Her expression did not suggest the state of crushed shame under which her parents thought she languished. In fact her past actions had no place in her mind; she had forgotten her confession in the office. An idea, formidable and obsessing, had taken possession of her, settled on her like a shadow. It was possible that their conclusions were wrong.