"Dear Lady O'Moy," his tenor voice was soft and soothing as a caress, "I sigh to think that one so adorable, so entirely made for life's sunshine and gladness, should have cause for a moment's uneasiness, perhaps for secret grief, at the thought of the peril of her brother." Her glance clouded under this reminder.

Then she pouted and made a little gesture of impatience.

"Dick is not in peril," she answered.

"He is foolish to remain so long in hiding, and of course he will have to face unpleasantness when he is found.

But to say that he is in peril is...