Blair settled back in his chair.  The mask of impassivity dropped back over his face, not again to lift.  He was again in command of himself.

“You expect to do nothing more, then?” he asked finally.

Scotty did not look up.  “No,” he responded.  “I can do nothing more.  She will have to find out her mistake for herself.”

Ben regarded the older man steadily.  It would have been difficult to express that look in words.

“You’d be willing to help, would you,” he suggested, “if you saw a way?”

The Englishman’s eyes lifted.  Even the incredible took on an air of possibility in the hands of this strong-willed ranchman.

“Yes,” he repeated.  “I will gladly do anything I can.”

For half a minute Ben Blair did not speak.  Not a nerve twitched or a muscle stirred in his long body; then he stood up, the broad sinewy shoulders squared, the masterful chin lifted.

“Very well,” he said.  “Call a carriage, and be ready to leave town in half an hour.”

Scotty blinked helplessly.  The necessity of sudden action always threw him into confusion.  His mind needed not minutes but days to adjust itself to the unpremeditated.

“Why?” he queried.  “What do you intend doing?”

But Ben did not stop to explain.  Already he was at the door of the vestibule.  “Don’t ask me now.  Do as I say, and you’ll see!” And he stepped inside.

Within the entrance, he paused for a moment.  He had never been in any room of the house except the library adjoining; and after a few seconds, walking over, he tapped twice on the door.

There was no answer, and he stepped inside.  The place was empty, but, listening from the dining-room on the left he heard the low intermittent murmur of voices in conversation and the occasional click of china.  Sliding doors connected the rooms, and again for an instant he hesitated.  Then, pulling them apart, he stood fairly in the aperture.

As he had expected, Florence and her mother were at breakfast.  The doors had slid noiselessly, and for an instant neither observed him.  Florence was nearest, half-facing him, and she was the first to glance up.  As she did so, the coffee-cup in her hand shook spasmodically and a great brown blotch spread over the white tablecloth.  Simultaneously her eyes widened, her cheeks blanched, and she stared as at a ghost.  Her mother, too, turned at the spectacle, and her color shifted to an ashen gray.

For some seconds not one of the three spoke or stirred.  It was Mrs. Baker who first arose and advanced toward the intruder, as threateningly as it was possible for her to do.

“Who, if I might ask, invited you to come this way?” she challenged.

Ben took one step inside the room and folded his arms.

“I came without being asked,” he explained evenly.

Mollie’s weak oval face stiffened.  She felt instinctively that her chiefest desires were in supreme menace.  But one defense suggested itself—­to be rid of the intruder at once.