Susan could contrive no answers to these questions that brought any relief to her vexed heart.  She had no courage to make inquiries of others, lest the character of her interest might be discovered.  Guilt made her cowardly.

She was yet turning the matter over and over when Brother Tom returned.  She scanned his face with a keen scrutiny, eager to get at what he had learned, yet not daring to ask a question.

When Tom had pinched Gertrude’s drowsy ear into consciousness he poured into it this unwelcome information:  “I’ve found out that your Mr. Falconer is the man.  But who the lady is I have not been able to discover.  She is an inscrutable mystery—­a good heroine for Wilkie Collins.”

“Who told you?” Gertrude demanded in a challenging tone.

“Jack Sidmore:  he knows your Mr. Falconer well.  Why, Falconer’s no new man:  he’s an old resident here.  He’s of the firm of Falconer, Trowbridge & Co., grain-dealers on Canal street.  You know Phil Trowbridge?”

“I’m sure there’s nothing wrong about Mr. Falconer, or he wouldn’t have been at Minnie Lathrop’s party.” said Gertrude resolutely.

“Well, Jack Sidmore knows the gentleman, and he says there is no doubt he has suspicious relations with Miss or Madam The-Lord-knows-who.  So, you see, you’re to drop Mr. Falconer like a hot potato—­to give him the cut direct.”

“It would be a shame to if he’s all right, and I feel certain he is,” said Gertrude, still showing fight.

“Now, look here, Gert:  don’t be foolish.  It won’t do to compromise yourself.  Be advised by me:  I’m your guardian angel, you know.  You can spare Mr. Falconer:  your train will be long enough with him cut off.”

“He’s the most interesting acquaintance I’ve made this winter,” said Gertrude persistently.

“Don’t you say so, Sue?  Oughtn’t Gertrude to cut him?  You’ve heard what we’ve been talking about, haven’t you?”

“Please don’t appeal to me,” Susan managed to say without lifting her eyes from the blurred page before her.

She had been more than once on the point of telling Gertrude and Tom what she knew about Mr. Falconer—­that it was her house he had rented for his friend, etc.  But everything about the matter was so indefinite.  She was fearful of exposing her unhappy heart, and she had withal some vague hope of unsnarling the tangled skein when she should find opportunity to think.  So she allowed them to finish up their discussion and to leave the room without a hint of the facts in her knowledge.

When they had gone the set, statuesque features relaxed.  A stricken look settled like a shadow over them.  You would have said, “It will never depart:  that face can never brighten again.”