Kate Rutherford went on: "I thought that possibly she might not have gone, so I called her apartment at once. I wanted to see her, to dissuade her, if possible. Her career ... it seemed a shame--a terrible waste. I couldn't understand why, when she had reached the height we all crave, she should----And then I found she wasn't there. That there were strangers in the apartment. I couldn't imagine why. I was frightened, and rang off. I knew it would be no use to go down there. She had said definitely, in her letter, that she was going away at once. It was only on a bare chance that I called up----" "I--see," said Peter, slowly. He thought in silence for a moment. Then he dropped down upon the rock, bringing his face on a level with the clever, mobile face of old "Kate Rohan." "You said, a few minutes ago--" he hesitated--"I think you admitted, Mrs. Rutherford, that you felt concerned for Donald Morris." "Yes," she said, quickly. "I had no idea, until I read that article in the paper last night--and saw Donald this morning--I knew, of course, that he was interested in Mary Blake. He made no secret of it. But Don has had a great many women friends, and he had the artist's enthusiastic way of speaking of them--I didn't realize that this was really serious." "But you do realize it now?" "Yes," she replied, sadly. "Yes. I think there can be no doubt. The poor boy----" "Mrs. Rutherford," Peter said, leaning forward and watching her face, "do you know of a reason why Donald Morris should not marry Miss Blake?" There was a long silence. The majestic old lady leaned slightly forward, her tightly clasped hands resting on her ample knees. Her white head was bent, her eyes fixed on the ground. After what seemed to Peter a long time, she said: "I--I think she would have--must have felt--that there was a reason." "And do you feel that it was a reason, Mrs. Rutherford? A sufficient reason?" "I"--she raised her head, and threw out her hands in an expressive gesture--"I don't know. I don't know how I would have felt, Mr. Clancy. Knowing Donald as I do--no, I don't know how I would have felt," she repeated, disconsolately. "Will you tell me the reason, Mrs. Rutherford?" said Peter, with deep seriousness in his tone. "I know a good deal. But I need to know more. I can't form a definite plan until I'm sure. I've made some guesses--just to-day and yesterday--that have sent me off on a new tack. If what I've suddenly come to believe turns out to be true, I think there's a chance, possibly a remote chance, of finding--of finding Miss Blake." "You think--you think there is?" There was an eager light in the expressive old eyes.