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ceives me as it never did before. Why she doesn't marry him is quite beyond me, for she could have him tomorrow if she whistled. He says she's trying to make him wait a year. I hope she succeeds! She won't be able to get him so easily, in a year, if she did but realize! She'd destroy him in time, you know, Saunders. In the worst way. Not by a single blow—he'd recover from that—but by a slow insidious poison."

"Did you tell Jock all this?"

Mrs. Hamill glared irritably. "My dear Saunders, don't be such a ninny! Do you think I'd help this affair along by opposing it? Indeed I did not tell him, nor shall I unless worst comes to worst. I shall sit tight, and let the thing work itself out. And continue to pretend I'm delighted with Yvonne, so that in the event they decide to get married I'll know about it in time to get busy."

"Perhaps—" began Lincoln speculatively.

Mrs. Hamill caught his meaning. "I hope so," she nodded. "I sincerely hope so. That would solve the problem quicker than anything else." . . .

IX

Terrace Tavern is built a cautious little off the beaten track. But travelers of the beaten track, though they do not actually pass its door, are assured that it lies somewhere in the vicinity by a series of signboards pricked out with red electric bulbs. These read variously, becoming more garrulous as the distance becomes less. "Five Miles to Terrace Tavern." "Four Miles to Terrace Tavern—August Schultz, Prop."

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