“Well, Brother Duke,” said Dorian.  “Is there anything that I can do?”

“I don’t think of anything,” said he.

“Not now,” added the mother in a tone which indicated that she did not wish the implied occasion to be too severe.

The father followed Dorian out in the yard.  There Dorian asked: 

“Brother Duke, has this Mr. Lamont been about lately?”

“He was here yesterday.  He came, he said, as soon as he heard of Carlia’s disappearance.  He seemed very much concerned about it.”

“And he knew nothing about it until yesterday?”

“He said not—­do you suspect—­he—­might—?”

“I’m not accusing anybody, but I never was favorably impressed with the man.”

“He seemed so truly sorry, that I never thought he might have had something to do with it.”

“Well, I’m not so sure; but I’ll go and see him myself.  I suppose I can find him in his office in the city?”

“I think so—­Well, do what you can for us, my boy; and Dorian, don’t take to heart too much what her mother implied just now.”

“Not any more than I ought,” replied Dorian.  “If there is any blame to be placed on me—­and I think there is—­I want to bear it, and do what I can to correct my mistakes.  I think a lot of Carlia, I like her more than any other girl I know, and I should have shown that to her both by word and deed more than I have done.  I’m going to help you find her, and when I find her I’ll not let her go so easily.”

“Thank you.  I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Monday morning Dorian went to the city and readily found the man whom he was seeking.  He was in his office.

“Good morning.  Glad to see you,” greeted Mr. Lamont, as he swung around on his chair.  “Take a seat.  What can I do for you?”

As the question was asked abruptly, the answer came in like manner.

“I want to know what you know about Carlia Duke.”

Mr. Lamont reddened, but he soon regained his self-possession.

“What do you mean!” he asked.

“You have heard of her disappearance?”

“Yes; I was very sorry to hear of it.”

“It seems her father has exhausted every known means of finding her, and I thought you might, at least, give him a clew.”

“I should be most happy to do so, if I could; but I assure you I haven’t the least idea where she has gone.  I am indeed sorry, as I expressed to her father the other day.”

“You were with her a good deal.”

“Well, not a good deal, Mr. Trent—­just a little,” he smilingly corrected.  “I will admit I’d liked to have seen more of her, but I soon learned that I had not the ghost of a chance with you in the field.”

“You are making fun, Mr. Lamont.”

“Not at all, my good fellow.  You are the lucky dog when it comes to Miss Duke.  A fine girl she is, a mighty fine girl—­a diamond, just a little in the rough.  As I’m apparently out of the race, go to it, Mr. Trent and win her.  Good luck to you.  I don’t think you’ll have much trouble.”