If anything had happened, he kept reassuring himself, it had been at Dellmey Baxter's instigation. He himself had had nothing to do with it. If Baxter had decided that his affairs would go more smoothly with Conrad out of the way, why should he, Alexander Bancroft, trouble himself further? And if--anything had happened--again he felt the loosening of mental strain and his spirits rose in exultation at the prospect of freedom and safety. Life was more attractive than ever with that menacing figure no longer threatening him with disclosure, disgrace, and death. He could go on with his plans for the accumulation of fortune and the enjoyment of life. He could still hold Lucy's love and honor, travel with her, marry again, work his way to a commanding place in the world of business. The future opened before him as easy and inviting as the stairs down which he went to breakfast. Lucy ran to meet him with a good-morning kiss and a rose for his buttonhole. "It's the prettiest I could find in my conservatory," she smiled at him; "but it isn't half nice enough for my daddy dear. You don't look well this morning, daddy," she went on anxiously. "Is anything the matter?" His hand slipped caressingly down over her curls and drew her to his breast in a quick embrace, instinct with the native impulse of the animal to protect its offspring. "She shall never know," was the thought in his mind. "Daddy! What a bear hug that was!" she laughed, "like those you used to give me when I was a little girl. It didn't feel as if you were ill." "I'm not," he answered lightly, kissing her pink cheek. "I guess I smoked too much yesterday, and so didn't sleep very well. Yes; I promise; I'll be more careful to-day." At breakfast his eyes dwelt much upon Louise Dent's face, gentle and pleasant. He had always liked her, and since her coming on this visit she had seemed very attractive. He knew she had strength and poise of character and a nature refined and cheerful. These qualities in her, with a certain genial, unobtrusive companionableness, had long ago won his warm friendship. But was there not in her steady gray eyes a hint of passionate depths he had never thought of before? It stirred him so deeply that for a little while, as they lingered over the breakfast table, he forgot the other facts of life, noting the faint rose flush in her cheeks, the graceful turn of her wrists, and the soft whiteness of her throat as she threw back her head and laughed. And Lucy loved her so devotedly! If she were willing to marry him their household would surely be harmonious and happy. Lucy fluttered beside him to the gate, her arm in his, as she chattered to him of the funny things her Chinese cook had been saying and doing. She lingered there, her eyes following his figure, until he turned, half a block away, to wave his hat in response to her farewell handkerchief.