Wounded pride and bitter wrath had him in their grip, mingled with overwhelming pain. His loving confidence in Doris lay shattered in the dust. His was a sunny-tempered nature in ordinary life; but it held cyclonic possibilities. It had become plain to him that the question of his parentage was the real cause for which he had been thrown over; and upon this his mind was now concentrated. Why all the mystery? Why his mother's falsity? And who was his father? He went to the cab-stand, and drove direct to Lynnthorpe, purposing to bring matters to a point between the Squire and himself. But when he asked for Mr. Stirling, the reply came promptly,—Away from home. "Away for the day?" "No, sir. Mr. Stirling went to London yesterday—quite unexpectedly,— and he said he would be away for a week or more." "Can you give me his town address?" "No, sir, I can't." "Somebody must know where he is." "Yes, sir,"—solemnly. "Miss Stirling has the address." "Will you be so good as to ask her for it?" "Miss Stirling has gone away this morning, for the week-end." "Where has she gone?" The stately butler disapproved of all this questioning. Or—was it that he had been warned? "If any letter comes for Miss Stirling, sir, it shall be forwarded," he said. One or two more vain attempts, and Maurice turned away, foiled. "This is not the end," he decided, as he drove off. "I shall come again,—and soon. I will have things out with him. There are facts that a man has a right to know." But, recognising that at the present moment he was powerless, he returned to the inn, spoke of altered plans, paid his bill, and left for Edinburgh. CHAPTER XXXV Would Hamilton Do? "EVERYTHING somehow seems so flat and stale; I begin to feel like a hundred years old," declared Doris, with a little laugh which had not much mirth in it. More than a month had gone by since Maurice's brief visit; and to Doris it looked like six months. The days dragged, and all she had to do was a trouble. Under pressure, she had cycled over this afternoon to call upon Katherine,—and she found the way thither extraordinarily long. On arrival she collapsed into one of the luxurious arm-chairs,— her pretty face laid against a crimson cushion; the cheeks less tinted than their wont; the mouth-corners dropped; the deep-set eyes dark and sad. Katherine, knowing nothing of the foreign entanglement, was puzzled by her present mood. Doris could not be ungraceful; and the outlines of her slender figure, relaxed and limp, were charming still; but the attitude would have been fatal with most figures. "I don't think you need begin to talk about age yet," Katherine remarked. "Perhaps home is a little dull after foreign travel." "Oh, I've been back long enough to forget all that; and—besides—" "Is Mrs. Brutt at home?" "Yes. I don't see much of her. She has turned so queer and stiff. Perhaps she was as sick of me as I was of her!"—with a laugh. "No—I don't care for her now."