“Dear,” said her mother, “you must tell me.” Edith motioned Mr. Arrelsford away. He went with ill-concealed impatience to the far side of the room and waited nervously to give the signal, anxious lest something should miscarry because of this unfortunate unwillingness of the girl to play her part. “What is it, dear?” whispered her mother. “Mamma,” said Edith, she forced the words out, “he—he—loves me.” “Impossible!” returned Mrs. Varney, controlling her voice so that the other occupant of the room could not hear. “Yes,” faltered the girl, “and I—some one else must do it.” “You don’t mean,” said Mrs. Varney, “that you return——” But Mr. Arrelsford’s patience had been strained to the breaking point. He did not know what interchange was going on between the two women, but it must be stopped. He came forward resolutely. The girl saw his determination in his face. “No, no,” she whispered, “not that, not now!” She shrank away from him as she spoke. “But, Edith,” said Mrs. Varney, “more reason now than ever.” “I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Mr. Arrelsford, “but we must go on.” “But why—why are you doing this?” asked Edith, pleading desperately. “Because I please,” snapped out the Secret Service Agent, and it was quite evident that he was pleased. Some of his satisfaction was due to the fact that he had by his own efforts at last succeeded in unearthing a desperate plot, and had his hands on the plotters. That he was thereby serving his country and demonstrating his fitness for his position of responsibility and trust also added to his satisfaction, but this was greatly enhanced by the fact that Thorne was his rival, and he could make a guess that he was a successful rival in love as well as in war. “You have never pleased before,” persisted Edith. “Hundreds of suspicious cases have come up—hundreds of men have been run down—but you preferred to sit at your desk in the War Department, until——” “Edith! Edith!” interposed her mother. “I can’t discuss that now,” said Arrelsford. “No, we will not discuss it. I will have nothing more to do with the affair.” “You won’t,” whispered Arrelsford threateningly. “Don’t say that,” urged Mrs. Varney. “Nothing, nothing at all,” said Edith. “At your own suggestion, Miss Varney,” persisted the Secret Service Agent vehemently, “I agreed to accept a plan by which we could criminate this friend of yours or establish his innocence. When everything is ready you propose to withdraw and make the experiment a failure, perhaps allowing him to escape altogether and being a party to treason against your own country.” Edith looked from Arrelsford’s set face, with his bitter words, the truth of which she was too just not to acknowledge, ringing in her ears, to the face of her mother. It was a sweet face, full of sympathy and love, but it was set in the same way as the man’s. The patriotism of the woman was aroused. The kind of help that Edith wanted in her mother’s look she did not find there.