Miss Gordon had contempt instead of passion, but her resentment was none the less.

And it was at high tide when Raymond came in at four-thirty for a cup of tea and what comfort he could obtain by seeing how Joan had survived the storm.  He was met by blank absence and a secret and unchristian desire on Miss Gordon’s part to hurt Joan.

Miss Gordon had not been entirely unobservant of all that had been going on.  She had had her qualms, but business must be business, and so long as Joan did not interfere with that she had not felt called upon to remonstrate with her on her growing friendliness with the protege of Mrs. Tweksbury.

But now things were changed and by Joan’s own bad behaviour.

Raymond looked sadly in need of tea and every other comfort available—­he was positively haggard.

While he sipped his tea he was watching, watching.  So was Miss Gordon.  Finally, he could stand it no longer and he spoke to her as she was passing.

“Your little sibyl—­she is not here?  On a vacation, I suppose?”

This was futile and cheap and Raymond felt that he flushed.

Miss Gordon poised for action.  Her face grew grave and hard—­she believed she was quite within her just rights when she sought to protect this very handsome and worth-while young man.  She really should have done it before!  She was convinced of that now.

“My assistant,” she said, “has left without giving the usual notice.  She has left me in a most embarrassing position but I suppose she felt her own personal affairs were paramount.

“I—­I think she has made a hasty marriage.”  On the whole, this seemed more kind than Joan deserved.

“A—­what?” Raymond almost forgot himself.  “A—­what—­did you say?”

“Well, I presume it was marriage.  She simply stated that something had occurred that was taking her to Chicago at once with a young man.”

Elspeth Gordon watched the face of Mrs. Tweksbury’s adopted son.  She felt she was serving a righteous cause.  If any worthy young man came to harm from the folly she had permitted she could never forgive herself!  Miss Gordon had an elastic conscience.

Raymond’s countenance grew suddenly blank.  He had recovered his self-control.  He laughed presently—­it was a light, well-modulated laugh, not the laugh of a shocked or very much interested man.

Miss Gordon was relieved—­but disappointed.

And then Raymond went out to do his thinking alone.  He walked the streets as people often do who are lonely and can find relief in action.

He had never been so confused in his life, but then, he reflected, what did he really know about the girl with whom he had spent so many happy, sweet, unforgettable hours?  The one black hour through which she had, somehow, stood as the only tangible safe thing he could recall, had shattered his faith in himself, in everything.

What was she?  Who was she?  And now she had gone—­with some man!  It sounded cruel and harsh—­but it could not, it never could, blot out certain memories which lay deep in Raymond’s mind.  He was miserable beyond words.  He deplored his own part in the unhappy affair; he could not adjust himself to the inevitable—­the end of the amazing and romantic episode.