were moments when her extreme frankness of speech rather surprised West, even her voice striking strangely upon his ears, but the happy laugh, and swift glance of the eyes reassured him.  No doubt she was playing a part for the benefit of Percival Coolidge in which he must co-operate.  Later all would be explained, and made clear.  This belief encouraged him to keep up his end of the conversation, ignoring Coolidge entirely, and devoting his attention exclusively to her.

The returning ride seemed very brief, and, almost before West realized it, the car whirled in through the Coolidge gate, and came to a stop at the door.  Coolidge by this time had recovered from his spell of ill-nature, or else chose to so appear, and the party separated pleasantly.  Natalie disappeared somewhere within, while the two men strolled out to the tennis court where the guests were enjoying a spirited game.  All met again at lunch, and then separated, some to motor over to the lake, the others amusing themselves as they saw fit.  Both Coolidge and Natalie vanished, while West, finding himself alone, chose a book from the library, and, solaced by a cigar, sought a shady nook on the porch.

The book, however, was but a mark for his thoughts, which continually revolved about the strange surroundings in which he found himself.  He was apparently making no progress, was no nearer a solution of the mystery confronting him.  Thus far, at least, no direct clue had presented itself.  Numerous things had occurred to strengthen suspicion, and to increase interest in the quest.  But beyond this—­nothing.  He liked the girl and was completely enlisted in her service.  He disliked Percival, and was convinced the fellow was planning evil.  Several incidents had already strengthened this belief; yet there was nothing positive upon which to build; no path of adventure for him to follow.  To speculate was easy enough, but real facts eluded him.

Yet, in spite of this feeling of failure, West’s reflections centred more upon the young woman than upon the particular problem which he had to solve.  The ride back from the city had revealed a phase of her character he had never observed before—­she had shown herself vivacious, light of speech, a bit slangy and audacious.  He was not altogether sure that this new revealment quite pleased him, and yet it possessed a certain charm.  He had before learned to think of her as rather quiet and reserved, and now must change his whole conception.  It was difficult to adjust his mind at once to the different standard.  He found himself wondering why she had afforded him glimpses of her nature so strangely unlike.  What could have occurred within the cottage to thus make so suddenly manifest this new side to her character?  The change in her only served to increase the mystery, and, he confessed, his admiration also.  Her very freedom evidenced to his mind that he was really accepted, had been taken into a new intimacy; no longer to be