She threw off Ruth’s detaining hands and swept past her through the hall and up the stairway, and Ruth did not try to follow her. Somewhere beyond the shadows she knew that George was still standing, his red eyes gleaming like those of a cat. She waited a few minutes to give Gloria time to go to her room and to give him time to retire to his own quarters. She did not want to pass him in the hall, and when at last she also went up, she thought she caught the sounds of suppressed sobs, coming from Gloria’s room. It would do no good to stop. In two days more they would be going to the Berkshires and there either George would win in his curious twisted plans or she would defeat him. If only she knew where to find Professor Pendragon. Terry could not help. He was too modern and practical. He couldn’t understand, his mind was fresh and clean and honest and western. If she could see Pendragon again she would tell him everything and he might help. She decided to telephone his hotel in the morning and find out, if possible, just where he had gone. CHAPTER XI When Ruth telephoned Professor Pendragon’s hotel she found that he had not left any address and would not be expected back before the first of the year. Her next thought was of Nels Zord. He might know, but much to her surprise she did not see Nels at the League, and sought out Dorothy instead. She found her easily enough, but it was not until she had asked about Nels that she observed that Dorothy’s eyes were red and her cheeks swollen as if from recent weeping. It was luncheon time and they were walking toward their restaurant together. “I don’t know where Nels is,” said Dorothy. Her voice was almost a sob. “Haven’t you seen him today?” “I never see him any more—haven’t you seen? He’s too busy with that Alice Winn girl. Oh, you know her, Ruth, the insipid creature with the carefully nurtured southern accent, who always has some highbrow Russian or Swedish book under her arm, and begins reading it every time she thinks a man is looking.” “I think I know the one you mean, but what about her and why is Nels busy with her and why have you been crying? You _have_ been crying.” “I suppose I have; it’s most unmanly of me, but I must do something. All men you know are irresistibly attracted to the weakest, cheapest sort of women. They all prefer sham to reality, and they are all snobs at heart.” “I’m afraid I don’t know much about men,” admitted Ruth.