Martha shook her head. "He is still about the place with Mr. Alan," she responded. She cocked an inquisitive eye at Miriam and took in appraisingly her trim, well-cut wool house gown. She had a dim, preconceived notion that all nurses were dowdy, and to find Miriam a becomingly dressed, extremely pretty, well-bred young woman was a distinct novelty. "Are ye going into Washington with Doctor Roberts?" "Yes. He asked me to wait for him." Miriam was conscious of a feeling of repulsion under the steady stare of Martha's oddly matched eyes--the iris of one was a pale blue, while the other was a deep brown. "I have not slept in the bed, Martha; so it is not necessary for you to remake it"--as the housekeeper laid her hand on the white counterpane. "But perhaps it would be just as well to have your husband bring up more wood. The room is a trifle chilly." "There's some in the wood box in the hall; I'll get it"--and before Miriam could utter a remonstrance, Martha had hurried away. She was back again in an instant, her arms full of small blocks of cord wood. Not waiting for Miriam's quickly proffered assistance, she let them fall clumsily on the hearth, and then gazed aghast at a long rent in her apron in which still hung a sliver of wood. Her name, called with loud insistence in her husband's unmistakable accents, caused her to start violently. Pausing only long enough to untie her apron and toss it aside, she hurried from the room, jostling Miriam in her haste to be gone. Miriam stood in thought for a few seconds, then moved over to the pier glass and put on her hat. She regretted having accepted Doctor Roberts' invitation to drive to the city with him. Had she followed her own inclination, she would have ordered a taxicab immediately after her scene with Betty Carter and departed. But, confused by Betty's, to her, incomprehensible behavior, she had listened to Coroner Dixon's urgent request that she remain a few hours longer at Abbott's lodge, until, as he expressed it, Betty had had time to pull herself together. Coroner Dixon hinted that hysteria explained her conduct. Miriam's expression grew more thoughtful. The shock of finding her lover dead might account for much, but was that _alone_ responsible for Betty's denial of her midnight visit to Abbott's Lodge? Sheriff Trenholm had summed up the situation in one brief sentence--"It's one girl's word against the other." And she, "the other girl," was unknown and without money, while Betty had hosts of friends and an assured position in the world! If she could only recall the name of the clergyman who had accompanied Betty! He would substantiate her statement. But try as she did to clearly remember each event of the night, his name eluded her. Undoubtedly the chloroform, with which she had been anesthetized, had much to do with her loss of memory. With proper rest, its effects would undoubtedly wear off; until then--