"Go right ahead! I'm not a gossip. If I know something of the truth, I may be able to stop a rill of scandal one of these days. There's bound to be chatter, even though old Mr. Willard comes East." "You know the name, then?" "Certainly. Mrs. Van Ralten was speaking about him tonight--not very favorably, either. Said she couldn't understand how such a man could have such a daughter." "Mrs. Van Ralten is a remarkably intelligent woman," said Power dryly. "I never saw Nancy's mother; but I imagine that this is a case of exclusive heredity, because there never were two more diverse natures than Nancy's and her father's. She is the soul of honor, and would give her life for a principle; while he bartered his own daughter for a few thousand dollars. If I were not convinced of that, do you believe I would besmirch her good name and my own by so much as tonight's mild adventure in an Italian café?" "I can give you easy assurance on that head. I have seldom been so surprised as when I saw the pair of you leaving the place and entering a cab." "That was a mere episode, a first meek onslaught on the proprieties, so to speak. You will understand fully when I have told you the whole story." They talked, or rather Power talked and Dacre listened, till a clock struck twelve somewhere. Carriages began to roll along the neighboring avenues, and lamps occasionally flitted past the hotel. Two or three vivacious groups crossed the veranda, and a porter turned on a lamp. Then Power found that his English friend had placed their chairs in a sort of alcove formed by a disused doorway flanked on each hand by a huge palm growing in a wooden tub which held a ton of earth, or more; so they were well screened. "You meant to force me to confess," he said, smiling. "Yes. It might have been merely folly on your part." "But now?" "Now it is Fate's own contriving. You don't want to escape; but you couldn't if you did. Or, that is awkwardly put. What I mean is----" Dacre's meaning was clear enough; but he never completed the sentence. A cab, laden with luggage, drove up, and a slightly built, elderly man alighted. "This the Ocean House?" he inquired, when a porter hurried forward. "Yes, sir," and the man took a portmanteau from the driver. "Hold on, there! I'm not sure I shall want a room. How far is 'The Breakers' from here, Mrs. Marten's house?" "Quite a ways," said the cabman. "Two miles an' a bit." The new arrival seemed to consider the distance and the lateness of the hour. "Is Mrs. Marten in Newport, do you know?" he asked. "Yep. I tuk her downtown this evenin'." "Alone?" "Guess that's so." "Where was she going?" "Wall, ye see, I was on the box, an' de lady was inside; so we didn't git anyways sociable." The stranger evidently bethought himself, and turned to the porter again. He could not know that a Harvard man was merely speaking in the vernacular. "Have you a Mr. Power staying here?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "Is he here now?"