“But surely that isn’t the end of the story,” Mrs. Dallas put in aggrievedly.  “Why, that’s the most tantalizing thing I ever heard.”

“I’m afraid that’s all,” I said.  “She went her way and I went mine.  If she recalls me at all, she probably thinks of me as a weak-kneed individual who faints like a woman when everything is over.”

“What did I tell you?” Mrs. Dallas asserted triumphantly.  “He fainted, did you hear? when everything was over!  He hasn’t begun to tell it.”

I would have given a lot by that time if I had not mentioned the girl.  But McKnight took it up there and carried it on.

“Blakeley is a regular geyser,” he said.  “He never spouts until he reaches the boiling point.  And by that same token, although he hasn’t said much about the Lady of the Wreck, I think he is crazy about her.  In fact, I am sure of it.  He thinks he has locked his secret in the caves of his soul, but I call you to witness that he has it nailed to his face.  Look at him!”

I squirmed miserably and tried to avoid the startled eyes of the girl across the table.  I wanted to choke McKnight and murder the rest of the party.

“It isn’t fair,” I said as coolly as I could.  “I have my fingers crossed; you are five against one.”

“And to think that there was a murder on that very train,” broke in the lady in yellow.  “It was a perfect crescendo of horrors, wasn’t it?  And what became of the murdered man, Mr. Blakeley?”

McKnight had the sense to jump into the conversation and save my reply.

“They say good Pittsburgers go to Atlantic City when they die,” he said.  “So—­we are reasonably certain the gentleman did not go to the seashore.”

The meal was over at last, and once in the drawing-room it was clear we hung heavy on the hostess’ hands.  “It is so hard to get people for bridge in September,” she wailed, “there is absolutely nobody in town.  Six is a dreadful number.”

“It’s a good poker number,” her husband suggested.

The matter settled itself, however.  I was hopeless, save as a dummy; Miss West said it was too hot for cards, and went out on a balcony that overlooked the Mall.  With obvious relief Mrs. Dallas had the card-table brought, and I was face to face with the minute I had dreaded and hoped for for a week.

Now it had come, it was more difficult than I had anticipated.  I do not know if there was a moon, but there was the urban substitute for it—­the arc light.  It threw the shadow of the balcony railing in long black bars against her white gown, and as it swung sometimes her face was in the light.  I drew a chair close so that I could watch her.

“Do you know,” I said, when she made no effort at speech, “that you are a much more formidable person to-night, in that gown, than you were the last time I saw you?”

The light swung on her face; she was smiling faintly.  “The hat with the green ribbons!” she said.  “I must take it back; I had almost forgotten.”