The judge found Alix radiating the freshness of a beautiful woman careful of her person; but it was the freshness of a pale flower. Alix was grave, and her gravity had a sweetness that made the judge’s heart bound. He felt an awakening in her that he had long watched for. She told him all the story of the day before in a steady monotone that omitted nothing and gave the facts only their own weight. When she had finished, the judge patted her hand. “You would make a splendid witness, my dear,” he said. “Now, what you want is for me to find Gerry and bring him back, isn’t it?” “Yes,” said Alix, “if you can.” “Nonsense! Of course I can. Men don’t drop out of the world so easily nowadays. But I still want to know a thing or two. Are you sure Gerry knew nothing of your--er--excursion to the station?” Alix shook her head. “From the time he left my room and the house he has not been back.” “Has he been to the club?” Alix colored faintly. “I see,” said the judge, quickly. “I’ll ask there. I’ll go now.” He went off, and all that day he sought in vain for a trace of Gerry. He went to all his haunts in the city; he had telephoned to those outside. At night he returned to Alix, but it was Mrs. Lansing who received him in the library. The judge was tired, and his buoyancy had deserted him. He told her of his failure. Mrs. Lansing was thoughtful, but not greatly troubled. “Gerry,” she said, “has a level head. He may have gone away, but that is all. He can take care of himself.” She went to tell Alix that there was no news. When she came back, the judge turned to her. “Well,” he asked, “What did she say?” “Nothing, except that she wanted to know if you had tried the bank.” The judge struck his fist into his left hand. “Never thought of it,” he said. “That child has a head!” He went to the telephone. From the president of the bank he traced the manager, from the manager, the cashier. Yes, Gerry had been at the bank on Saturday. The cashier remembered it because Mr. Lansing had drawn a certain account in full. He would not say how much. “There,” said the judge, with a sigh of relief, “that’s something. It takes a steady nerve to draw a bank-account in full. You must take the news up-stairs. I’m off. I’ll follow up the clue to-morrow.” There was a new look of content mingled with the worry in Mrs. Lansing’s face that made the judge say, as he held out his hand in farewell, “Things better?” Mrs. Lansing understood him. “Yes,” she answered, and added, “we have been crying together.” There had been strength in Mrs. Lansing’s calm. She had been waiting, and now the waiting was over. Alix had given herself, tearful and almost wordless, into arms that were more than ready, and had then poured out her heart in a broken tale that would have confounded any court of justice, but which between women was clearer than logic.