“We will have coffee in the living-room,” said Eunice, as she rose from the table. Always a charming hostess, she was at her best to-night. Her thin black gown was becoming and made her fair throat and arms seem even whiter by contrast. She stood back, as the others left the room, and Hendricks, tarrying, too, came close to her. “Brace up, dear,” he said; “it will all come out right. I’m sorry Elliott dragged in this Stone, but--it will be all right, somehow.” “But it’s all so mysterious, Alvord. I don’t know what to do--or say--” “Don’t lose your temper, Eunice. Let me advise you strongly as to that. It never does any good--it militates against you. And here’s another thing--Are you afraid of the little Desternay?” “Afraid--how?” but Eunice paled. “Afraid--she knows something--oh, something injurious to--” “To me? She knows heaps!” The haughty head tossed, and Eunice looked defiant. “You beauty!” and Hendricks took a step nearer. “Oh, you splendid thing! How I adore you. Eunice--you are a goddess to-night! And you are for me! Some day--oh, I’m not going to say it now---don’t look so alarmed--but, you know--oh, Sweet, you know! And you yes, you, too, my splendid Tiger--”‘ “Hush, Alvord! Never call me that!” “No, I beg pardon. And I don’t want to. That was San’s own name for you. I shall call you my Queen! My glorious Queen-woman!” “Oh, stop! Don’t you dare make love to me! “And don’t you dare say ‘dare’ to me! I dare all--” Ferdinand’s entrance cut short this dialogue, and Eunice and Hendricks went into the other room. Almost immediately a visitor was announced, and Hanlon came in. “Why, Mr. Hanlon,” Eunice said, greeting him cordially, “I’m glad to see you again.” “So am I,” cried Aunt Abby, hastening to welcome the newcomer. “Oh, Mr. Hanlon, I went to see your man--Mr. Marigny, you know--” “Yes? I called to see if you had found him all right.” The necessary introductions were made, and Hanlon took his place in the group. He was a little ill at ease, for he was by no means a member of “society,” and though he had been at the Embury house before, he seemed a trifle in awe of his surroundings. “And I called, too,” Hanlon said, “to offer you my respectful sympathy, Mrs. Embury, and ask if there’s anything I can do for you.” “Why, you’re very kind,” said Eunice, touched by his thoughtfulness, “but I’m afraid there’s nothing you--anybody can do for me.” “F. Stone can,” declared Fibsy; “he can do a lot for you, Mrs. Embury.” The red head nodded vigorously, as was the boy’s habit, when much in earnest. Hanlon regarded him closely, and Fibsy returned the scrutiny. “Say,” the boy broke out, suddenly. “I’ve seen you before. You’re the man who found the hidden jackknife, in Newark!” “The same,” and Hanlon smiled at him. “Were you present?” “I sure was! Gee! You’re a wonder!” “I was a wonder, but I don’t do wonderful things any more.” “What do you do now?”