“You would have me--me, Lelia Ritchie, your promised wife--humble myself to apologize to a gipsy foundling, no better than a servant, for a hasty word! Laurie, you must be losing your mind.” “I certainly shall unless you bridle your undisciplined temper, Lelia!” he returned, in impatient wrath, taking his arm quickly from her waist, and springing to his feet in deep disgust. The sudden entrance of Miss Willoughby created a diversion to a scene that threatened to become highly sensational. Laurie dropped into a seat and made talk by inquiring into the progress of the “Willoughby Memoirs,” and the old lady thus launched into her favorite theme, talked on for an hour, affording Lelia ample opportunity to recover her equanimity by joining in with apparent smiling interest. At a momentary lull in the conversation, she said carelessly: “Tell me all about the house-party that will come to-morrow.” “There are just eight--Captain Thurston and his wife, she will assist me in chaperone duty, you know. Then there are Irene Mays, Bessie Hall, Zaidee Preston, Geoffrey Graves, Warren Beihl, and Roy Van Vleck. You know some of them, I believe?” “I have met them all at different times, and all are pleasant people. I am sure we shall have a charming time,” Lelia replied, with pretended pleasure. “And, by the way, that reminds me I must write a letter this afternoon,” cried the old lady, rising quickly, then exclaiming: “Oh, dear, I cannot do it till Gipsy comes home. Really, I think it is time she was here. Of course, she had to go under shelter till the storm was over, but the sun has been shining two hours now. It is very strange she remains away so long.” “Let me write your letter, aunt,” exclaimed Laurie eagerly. “No, I will wait for Gipsy,” she replied. But she would have a wearier waiting than she knew. For the summer twilight fell, and the stars came out, but Gipsy did not return. By this time the mistress of The Crags began to grow uneasy. “Such a thing has never happened before. Gipsy has never stayed out after dark,” she said, and questioned Laurie closely as to her strange disappearance. “She darted suddenly behind some rocks, and I drove on, thinking she had sought a shelter from the storm,” he said, adding with some embarrassment: “My first impulse was to ask her to get into the carriage and drive with Lelia, and let me walk, but I knew Lelia would raise an objection.” The young lady would have spoken for herself here, had she been present, but she was in the distant music-room, playing snatches of dreamy waltz music. Miss Willoughby exclaimed: “I shall send two of the men servants to look for her. She may have fallen down and crippled herself. There’s no telling what has happened. Do you think you can tell the men where you saw her last, Laurie?” “I will go and show them,” he replied. “But Lelia would be displeased,” she said hesitatingly. “In a case like this I must risk her displeasure,” he replied sternly.