"And, after all, Anne," said Kate Rutherford, holding out her hands in a gesture almost of supplication, "it was my secret, in a way. At least I was responsible. It was my fault altogether. You would never have gone into it at all but for me. I had such a hard time persuading you----" "And I never would have been persuaded, Donald," a soft voice interrupted. "I think I would never have been persuaded but for one thing, which Mrs. Rutherford never knew." For a moment Mary Blake looked into the eyes of her lover. Then she went on: "You don't remember, dear, I know. It was long, long ago, that first time I saw you----" "At my sister's house in Gramercy Park," said Donald. "No, dear. Long before that. You were riding through Hobart Falls with someone--a lady--on horseback.... You stopped at old Walter Lord's, you and she, to have him take your pictures.... I remember it well." Her voice was very quiet, full of restrained emotion. "The sunlight on the trees, and on your face.... I was there, on the steps, and you saw me--I saw the quick shiver of disgust when you caught sight of my poor face. You closed your eyes for a second--and I went quickly away.... You would not remember, but it seared deep into my soul----" Peter Clancy rose abruptly, and quietly passing over to the window, stood with his back turned to the room. Doctor Stevens unobtrusively joined him, and the two men stood looking out with unseeing eyes. Mrs. Rutherford sat very still. Her great, dark, youthful eyes were full of tears. The two fine young creatures at the other end of the room were oblivious of all save each other. Anne Curwood was still speaking: "Afterward, Donald, when I was employed by your sister, in Fennimore Park, I saw you often, but I kept out of sight. I watched you, from behind the curtain at the door, working in your studio there. You were rapt, absorbed. I had little fear that you would ever think of the poor girl who came in to do cleaning.... But every line of your face grew familiar to me in those days; in those brief moments that I could snatch from my work--I learned to read your face--I knew when your work was going well, and rejoiced with you--I saw the light in your eyes--your smile----It was the thought of making something of myself, of being someone--someone you would not shudder to look at, that induced me----" He turned, and caught her in his arms. "Mary," he whispered upon her lips. "Mary!" THE END * * * * * BOOKS BY LEE THAYER Q. E. D. THAT AFFAIR AT "THE CEDARS" THE MYSTERY OF THE THIRTEENTH FLOOR THE SINISTER MARK THE UNLATCHED DOOR