"If I could please myself, I'd rush Winifred to the City Hall for a marriage license to-day," he said, believing he had fathomed the other's thought. "I'm a bit of a Celt on the French and Irish sides," snapped Clancy, "and that means an ineradicable vein of romance in my make-up. But I'm a New York policeman, too--a guy who has to mind his own business far more frequently than the public suspects." And there the subject dropped. Truth to tell, the department had to tread warily in stalking such big game as a Senator. Carshaw was a friend of the Towers, and "the yacht mystery" had been deliberately squelched by the highly influential persons most concerned. It was impolitic, it might be disastrous, if Senator Meiklejohn's name were dragged into connection with that of the unsavory Voles on the flimsy evidence, or, rather, mere doubt, affecting Winifred Bartlett's early life. Winifred herself lived in a passive but blissful state of dreams during the three weeks. Perhaps, in her heart of hearts, she wondered if every young man who might be in love with a girl imposed such rigid restraint on himself as Rex Carshaw when he was in her company. The unspoken language of love was plain in every glance, in every tone, in the merest touch of their hands. But he spoke no definite word, and their lips had never met. Miss Goodman, who took an interest in the pretty and amiable girl, spent many an hour of chat with her. Every morning there arrived a present of flowers from Carshaw; every afternoon Carshaw himself appeared as regularly as the clock and drank of Miss Goodman's tea. They were weeks of _Nirvana_ for Winifred, and, but for her fear of being found out and her continued lack of occupation, they were the happiest she had ever known. Meantime, however, she was living on "borrowed" money, and felt herself in a false position. "Well, any news?" was always Carshaw's first question as he placed his hat over his stick on a chair. And Winifred might reply: "Not much. I saw such-and-such a stage manager, and went from such an agent to another, and had my voice tried, with the usual promises. I'm afraid that even your patience will soon be worn out. I am sorry now that I thought of singing instead of something else, for there are plenty of girls who can sing much better than I." "But don't be so eager about the matter, Winifred," he would say. "It is an anxious little heart that eats itself out and will not learn repose. Isn't it? And it chafes at being dependent on some one who is growing weary of the duty. Doesn't it?" "No, I didn't mean that," said Winifred with a rueful and tender smile. "You are infinitely good, Rex." They had soon come to the use of Christian names. Outwardly they were just good friends, while inwardly they resembled two active volcanoes.