“That’s neither here nor there,” said Nick, with a laugh. “Not being in the market, Danny, all women look alike to me. Now, the said Mrs. Darling’s trouble may be--ah, but we are near an answer to the momentous question. Yonder is the place, unless I am much mistaken. Stop at the driveway gate. I’ll walk into the grounds. Keep your eye peeled, by the way, while I’m engaged with her ladyship.” The place referred to was out beyond Washington Heights and overlooking the Hudson. It was an attractive estate, without being at all pretentious, as were others in the immediate locality. The grounds flanked a broad street in which electric lighting was being introduced, and from which the house stood back some thirty yards, with a well-kept lawn and a few shade trees. In the rear were a stable and garage, beyond which the land sloped down sharply toward the river. Nick did not wait for an answer from his chauffeur. He sprang from the car while speaking, then walked briskly up the driveway and approached the house, quite a large wooden dwelling of the colonial type. Nick mounted the broad front veranda and rang the bell. It was answered almost immediately by a tall, graceful woman, clad in black, and about thirty years of age. She was of medium complexion, with brown hair and eyes and a finely poised head. Her features were regular, but her face was a strong one, rather than handsome, evincing will power, intellectuality, and a lofty character. She bowed and smiled a bit gravely, saying immediately: “You are Mr. Carter, I think.” “Yes,” said Nick politely. “I am Mrs. Darling. Walk in, please, and come into the library. I am very glad you could comply so soon with my request. It is very good of you.” “I happened to be at liberty this afternoon,” Nick replied, following her into the hall. “I received your letter this morning.” Mrs. Darling conducted him into a prettily furnished library and invited him to be seated. Taking an opposite chair, she then said gravely: “I will take as little as possible of your valuable time. I will tell you with few and simple words, Mr. Carter, why I have sent for you.” “Cover all of the ground, Mrs. Darling,” Nick suggested. “My time just now is at your disposal.” “Thank you,” she replied, bowing. “I will in that case begin at the beginning. I was married eight years ago to Mr. Cyrus Darling, a New York tobacco dealer, a man whom I have always supposed had considerable means, though he has never informed me definitely. He owned this place, however, and we have always lived well, and he has provided for me generously.” “Mr. Darling is not living?” “No. I will explain presently.” “Continue.”