"But what is the matter? What has happened?" He flung out both hands in an eloquent gesture. "Why are you acting so strangely?" After all he had been through, after the strain and stress and mental suffering he had been laboring under, this frigid reception, so different from the one he had imagined when he dared to picture their meeting at all, was almost unnerving. "You must tell me what it means!" he cried. Her lips quivered, but she caught them between her teeth and tilted her chin a little more. She still wore her hat—a wide one of black velvet, with curving brim and soft black plumes. Her sable coat was flung over the back of a nearby chair; and as she faced him—slim, erect, palpitating with life and charm and fascination, Lawrence realized that she had never seemed so beautiful—or so utterly beyond his reach. "I think," she returned steadily, "that you are the one to tell me that." The man turned suddenly white and drew his breath sharply. In a second every feature seemed to have become tense and hard and clean-cut as if fashioned from marble. When he spoke his voice was low and clear, but there was a faint, throbbing undercurrent which showed plainly how difficult it was for him to keep it so. "It isn’t possible that you believe me responsible for this?" he said. For an instant the girl did not answer. Her lips were quivering unmistakably now; her self-control was plainly strained almost to the breaking point. "How do I know what to believe?" she cried suddenly. "How do I know whom to trust?" A sob arose in her throat, and she fumbled in her sleeve for a tiny handkerchief. "Oh, why did you try to keep it from me?" she went on despairingly. "Why didn’t you tell me at first, and then we should never have——" She could not finish, and the swift glimpse Barry had of those dark eyes, swimming with tears, before she hid them with her handkerchief, almost drove him mad. "Tell you what?" he demanded dazedly. "For Heaven’s sake what is it you think I’ve kept from you? Surely you don’t mean that trouble at the bank? You must have known that I never——" She silenced him with a gesture and dropped both hands straight by her sides. There was a glint of tears still in her dark eyes, but she had recovered her composure with remarkable rapidity. "It isn’t that," she said wearily. "It’s far more important than any bank. I know—everything. You understand? And it—hurts desperately to think that I had to hear from—-a stranger—that you——" She stopped abruptly as a brisk knock sounded at the door. Before either of them could speak it swung open, and two men entered quietly, closing it behind them. *CHAPTER XLII.* *THE MAN IN THE MIRROR.* The foremost of the intruders was the dapper detective, Brennen, and, as he recognized him, Barry scowled. "So it’s you, is it?" he said shortly.