him. He is always gentle with me." Donaldson caught his breath. This was an emergency that he had not foreseen. Manifestly, she could not go. She must not go. It would be to take her back to the blue sky beneath which she was born. It would be to give her a setting that would intensify every wild thought he was trying so hard to throttle. "No," he exclaimed. "You had better permit me to go alone." "I should not think of it," she answered decisively. "But he may not be there. He might come back here while you were gone." "He will be quite safe if he returns here." "But--" "I will see Marie and come down at once." She hurried upstairs. "Marie," she asked, "is it quite safe to leave you here alone until afternoon?" "Safe? Why not?" "I was going out to the bungalow." The old servant looked up shrewdly. "Is anything the matter?" "Nothing that you can help," the girl answered. She had not yet told her of Ben's last disappearance. There was no use in worrying those who could give no help. "Bien. Go on. It will do you both good." "The telephone is at your bed--you can summon Dr. Abbot if you need anything." "Bien." "And perhaps while I am gone Jacques may come for a visit." "Perhaps. Run along. The air will do you good." The girl kissed the wrinkled forehead and hurried to her own room. There, before the mirror, she was forced to ask herself the question