Diana was sneering and scornful.  Thoroughly on guard, she permitted no compromising word or admission to escape her.  Really, she knew nothing of Louise Merrick, having unfortunately neglected to examine her antecedents and personal characteristics before undertaking her acquaintance.  One is so likely to blunder through excess of good nature.  She had supposed a niece of Mr. John Merrick would be of the right sort; but the age is peculiar, and one cannot be too cautious in choosing associates.  If Miss Merrick had run away from her home and friends, Miss Von Taer was in no way responsible for the escapade.  And now, if Miss De Graf had nothing further to say, more important matters demanded Diana’s time.

Beth was furious with anger at this baiting.  Without abandoning a jot her suspicions she realized she was powerless to prove her case at this time.  With a few bitter and cutting remarks—­made, she afterward said, in “self-defense”—­she retreated as gracefully as possible and drove home.

An hour later she suggested to Uncle John that he have a detective placed where Diana’s movements could be watched; but that had already been attended to by both Mr. Merrick and Mr. Fogerty.  Uncle John could hardly credit Diana’s complicity in this affair.  The young lady’s social position was so high, her family so eminently respectable, her motive in harming Louise so inconceivable, that he hesitated to believe her guilty, even indirectly.  As for her cousin, he did not know what to think, as Arthur accused him unreservedly.  It did not seem possible that any man of birth, breeding and social position could be so contemptible as to perpetrate an act of this character.  Yet some one had done it, and who had a greater incentive than Charlie Mershone?

Poor Mrs. Merrick was inconsolable as the days dragged by.  She clung to Patsy with pitiful entreaties not to be left alone; so Miss Doyle brought her to her own apartments, where the bereft woman was shown every consideration.  Vain and selfish though Mrs. Merrick might be, she was passionately devoted to her only child, and her fears for the life and safety of Louise were naturally greatly exaggerated.

The group of anxious relatives and friends canvassed the subject morning, noon and night, and the longer the mystery remained unsolved the more uneasy they all became.

“This, ma’am,” said Uncle John, sternly, as he sat one evening facing Mrs. Merrick, “is the final result of your foolish ambition to get our girls into society.”

“I can’t see it that way, John,” wailed the poor woman.  “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening in society before, have you?”

“I don’t keep posted,” he growled.  “But everything was moving smoothly with us before this confounded social stunt began, as you must admit.”

“I can’t understand why the papers are not full of it,” sighed Mrs. Merrick, musingly.  “Louise is so prominent now in the best circles.”