Primed with these questions, she left immediately after coffee, arriving at her own red stone portal at ten. But coming in, all a-flutter with the idea of having kept him waiting when she had so much to ask, she found her note as she had left it. She questioned Shima. There had been no message from Mr. Cressy. Her first annoyance was lost in wonder. What could be the matter? If this was neglect on Harry's part--well, it would be the first time. But she did not believe it was neglect. He had been too eager that morning. She went into the drawing-room--a dull-pink, stupendous chamber--knelt a moment before the flashing wood fire, then rose, and crossing to the window, looked anxiously out. She had a flight of fancy toward accidents, but in that case she would certainly have heard. The French clock on the mantel rang half-past ten. The sound had hardly died in the great spaces before she heard the fine snarl of the electric bell. She restrained an impulse to dash into the hall, and stood impatient in the middle of the room. He came in hastily, his lips all ready with words which hesitated at sight of her. "Why, you're going out!" he said. She had forgotten the cloak that still hung from her shoulders. "No, I've just come in, and all my fine apologies for being out are wasted. How long do you think Clara'll let you stop at this hour?" "Clara isn't here," he said. "Well, then your time is all the shorter." She was nettled that he should be oblivious of his lapse. Their relation had never been sentimental, but he had always been punctilious. "I'm sorry," he said, arriving at last at his apology. "I couldn't help being late. I've had a day of it." He drew his hands across his forehead, and she noticed that he was in his morning clothes and looked as rumpled and flurried as a man just from the office. She relented. "Poor dear! You do look tired! Don't take that chair. It's more Louis Quinze than comfortable. Come into the library. And remember," she added, when Shima had set the decanter and glasses beside him, "you are to stay just twenty minutes." He took a sip of his drink and looked at her over the top of his glass. "I may have to stay longer if you want to hear about it." "Oh, Harry, you really know something? All the evening I've heard nothing but the wildest rumors. Some say Major Purdie couldn't speak because some one 'way up knows more than she should about it. And somebody else said it wasn't the real ring at all that was taken, only a paste copy, and that is why they're not doing more about getting it back." "Not doing more about getting it back?" Harry laughed. "Is that the idea that generally prevails? Why, Flora--" He stopped, waited a moment while she leaned forward expectant. "Flora," he began again, "are you mum?" She nodded, breathless. "Not a word to Clara?" "Oh, of course not."