Adith Mallory saw Jim Framtree in New York, after her hours with Beth Truba.  It was the day before he sailed for Equatoria.  Framtree asked her not to tell Mr. Bedient that the name of Framtree was spoken in her conversation with Beth.  This request gave her a clearer understanding.

Bedient may have guessed that the mystery of the return of Jim Framtree was penetrated by Beth, but he did not ask Miss Mallory, nor mention Framtree in his letters to the lustrous lady.  He doubtless wondered at the hasty return of his young friend, but it was a privilege of Beth to return his gifts—­one of the glowing mysteries of Beth.

Just now, Bedient caught the waving hand of David Cairns in the small crowd below.  Fifteen minutes later they were in a cab together....  Beth had returned to New York.  This was the answer to Bedient’s first question.

“Are you going to stay with us this time, Andrew?” Cairns asked, raptly studying his friend.

“Yes.  Several weeks at least.”

“At the Club?”

“No.  I shall go back to Broderick Street to-morrow.”

This was a broken arrow of black sorrows near the East River, straight East from Gramercy.  Bedient had found it in the summer, where it had lain rotting in its wound.

“So the New York office of the Carreras plantations is to be in Broderick Street,” Cairns said thoughtfully.

“But I’ll be with you often....  And, David, I’ve brought up a small manuscript which I want you to read.  After that we’ll advise together about its publishing——­”

“That is important—­if the stuff is anything like your letters to me....  Have you thought of attaching your name to this beginning?”

“Not more than A.B.”

* * * * *

“Is everything bright down yonder?” Cairns asked after a moment.

“Bright past any idea you can have.  Framtree is doing greatly—­indispensable—­and loves the life.  Miss Mallory still unfolds.  She’s a Caribbean of buried treasure——­”

“And they?” Cairns asked.

“Are friends.”

...Vina met them in her studio.  The three stood for a moment in silence among the panels.  It was not yet four in the afternoon, but the dusk was thickening....  Vina put on her hat.

“I’ve just received word from Mary McCullom,” she said.  “She’s in Union Hospital—­I don’t know—­but I must hurry.  The word said that Mary McCullom wanted me—­nothing more.  That was her maiden-name.  I knew her so.  Her husband died recently, but I didn’t hear in time to find her.  She must have left New York for a time.  They were so happy....  I’m afraid——­”

David went to her.

“No, you mustn’t go with me, David.  There are too many things to do—­for to-night——­”

“Let me go, Vina,” Bedient said.

In the cab, she told him the story of Mary McCullom’s failure as an artist and conquest as a woman—­the same story she had told Beth Truba—­and what meant the love of the nurseryman—­to Mary McCullom.