He was amused with himself at the extreme care with which he proceeded to dress.  It was an entirely new sensation.  Wallie had provided him with the necessaries for a cold sponge and in some mysterious interim since their arrival had brushed and pressed the most important of Conniston’s things.  With the Englishman’s wardrobe he had brought up from barracks a small chest which was still locked.  Until this morning Keith had not noticed it.  It was less than half as large as a steamer trunk and had the appearance of being intended as a strong box rather than a traveling receptacle.  It was ribbed by four heavy bands of copper, and the corners and edges were reinforced with the same metal.  The lock itself seemed to be impregnable to one without a key.  Conniston’s name was heavily engraved on a copper tablet just above the lock.

Keith regarded the chest with swiftly growing speculation.  It was not a thing one would ordinarily possess.  It was an object which, on the face of it, was intended to be inviolate except to its master key, a holder of treasure, a guardian of mystery and of precious secrets.  In the little cabin up on the Barren Conniston had said rather indifferently, “You may find something among my things down there that will help you out.”  The words flashed back to Keith.  Had the Englishman, in that casual and uncommunicative way of his, referred to the contents of this chest?  Was it not possible that it held for him a solution to the mystery that was facing him in the presence of Mary Josephine?  A sense of conviction began to possess him.  He examined the lock more closely and found that with proper tools it could be broken.

He finished dressing and completed his toilet by brushing his beard.  On account of Mary Josephine he found himself regarding this hirsute tragedy with a growing feeling of disgust, in spite of the fact that it gave him an appearance rather distinguished and military.  He wanted it off.  Its chief crime was that it made him look older.  Besides, it was inclined to be reddish.  And it must tickle and prick like the deuce when—­

He brought himself suddenly to salute with an appreciative grin.  “You’re there, and you’ve got to stick,” he chuckled.  After all, he was a likable-looking chap, even with that handicap.  He was glad.

He opened his door so quietly that Mary Josephine did not see him at first.  Her back was toward him as she bent over the dining-table.  Her slim little figure was dressed in some soft stuff all crinkly from packing.  Her hair, brown and soft, was piled up in shining coils on the top of her head.  For the life of him Keith couldn’t keep his eyes from traveling from the top of that glowing head to the little high-heeled feet on the floor.  They were adorable, slim little, aristocratic feet with dainty ankles!  He stood looking at her until she turned and caught him.

There was a change since last night.  She was older.  He could see it now, the utter impropriety of his cuddling her up like a baby in the big chair—­the impossibility, almost.