"Are you a reporter?" she demanded, without seeking to soften the harshness of the question, and in an instant I knew that it was she who had threatened me through the door the night before, for the voice was the same and yet not the same. Then it had been edged and broken by a kind of frenzy; now it was almost domineering in its cool insolence. What was it had so shaken her? Fear at my knock at that hour of the night? Yet she seemed anything but a woman easily alarmed. "No, I'm not a reporter," I answered, smiling as well as I could to hide the tumult of my thoughts. "My name is Lester, and I'm acting for Mr. Curtiss. I hope you'll grant my request." She looked at me more closely, and her lips curved derisively. "I've heard of you," she said. "From your sister, no doubt. I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday afternoon." I could not wholly keep the irony out of my tone. "I guess you didn't find out much from her," she retorted. "Not half as much as she knew. I hope you'll be more frank with me." She hesitated a moment longer, then stood aside. "Very well; come in," she said, and as I entered, she pointed the way into a room at the right. It was a large, pleasant room, well furnished and in excellent taste. On my first glance around, my eyes were caught and held by a portrait which occupied the place of honour on the wall opposite the front windows. It was a woman's head, life-size, evidently done from life, crude enough in execution, but of a woman so brilliantly beautiful that her face seemed to glow through the canvas, to rise superior to the lack of skill with which the artist had depicted her. There was something familiar about it, too--at least, I fancied so--and then I shook the thought away impatiently. "Well?" asked a voice, and I turned to see that Miss Kingdon was waiting for me to speak. "Sit down," she added abruptly, and herself sat down opposite me, and gazed at me with fierce eyes that never wavered. "Mr. Curtiss is naturally anxious," I began, "to find Miss Lawrence and to hear from her own lips the reason for her flight. He even thinks he has a certain right to know that reason. I'm trying to find where Miss Lawrence is." "And why do you come here?" she asked with compressed lips. "Because," I answered boldly, "I believe that Miss Lawrence came here when she left her home. She went first into the library, where she sat for a while until she decided what to do; then she opened the library window, descended from the balcony, and ran here along the path which leads through the trees to that gate out yonder. You received her and refused to allow any one to see her." "I refused to allow the reporters to see her!" she cried. "Surely, you would have done as much!" "Yes," I said, repressing as well as I could the sudden burst of triumph which glowed within me. "Yes--perhaps I should. But you'll not refuse me?" She smiled grimly.