The little story grew in his mind until it seemed the likeliest thing in the world. Rachel, anxious for something to do, aware of her singular cleverness in gliding about without attracting too much attention, had availed herself of the only means at her disposal of earning a good income, by becoming a journalist; and, in order to get the sort of first-hand knowledge of life necessary for her purpose, she habitually went about disguised as a girl of the poorer classes. Because she knew her mother would be distressed if she were to know what profession her daughter followed, Rachel had given out that she was an artist and designer, and so got the time she wanted to herself, and represented herself as having a studio near Regent Street, in order to account for the hours when she was occupied collecting information for the editors who employed her. The longer he lingered upon this hypothesis, the more he liked it; but in spite of his arguments, there lingered at the bottom of his mind a vague fear that his little story was but a fiction after all. For what of the glittering thing he had seen her pass to the man? And what of the man? Even if his own fanciful theory were correct Gerard did not like the intrusion of a man into the story. He could not deceive himself about that. There had been a man in the case, apparently young, for he appeared to be as active as herself, and--there had been that glittering thing which he knew, after all, to be a diamond. What had the professional journalist to do with diamonds? What had she to do with a man? Gerard resented his own fears, his own doubts, and, determined to solve the mystery at no matter what cost, on the following afternoon he dared to call at Lady Jennings’ house, and to ask boldly for Miss Davison. “Miss Davison is not here at present, sir,” said the footman. “She lives here does she not?” asked Gerard. “Oh, yes, sir, she lives here for the most part. But she has to spend some time with Mrs. Davison at Brighton. She’s been down there for the past three weeks, sir.” Gerard felt as if he had had a blow. For it was on the previous night that he had seen, or believed he saw, Rachel in the crowd, and now he was told that she was at Brighton! He was about to retire, very dissatisfied, and without knowing what step he should take next to solve the problem which distressed him, when a door opened into the hall and Lady Jennings, whom he remembered, having seen her at Burlington House, came out and asked him to come in. She was a delightful old lady, with silver-white hair and keen eyes, who dressed perfectly, and who was a little queen in her way.