“Good-by,” she said, rising quickly, “I must go.”

“Oh, no,—don’t go,” cried Pinky, overhearing. “Why, you’ve only just come.”

“Yes, I must go,” said Miss Mystery, decidedly. “Good afternoon, Mrs. Bates, and thank you for bringing me. Good afternoon, Mrs. Peyton.”

Including all the others in a general bow of farewell, the strange girl went to the front door, and paused for the attendant Nogi to open it.

Door-tending the assistant butler understood, and he punctiliously waited until Miss Austin had buttoned her gloves and had given an adjusting pat to her veil, after a fleeting glance in the hall mirror.

Then he opened the door with an obsequious air, and closed it behind her departing figure.

But it was immediately flung open again by Pinky Payne, who ran through it and after the girl.

“Wait a minute, Miss Austin. How fast you walk! I’m going home with you.”

“Please not,” she said, indifferently, scarcely glancing at him.

“Yep. Gotto. Getting near dusk, and you might be kidnapped. Needn’t talk if you don’t want to.”

“I never want to talk!” was the surprising and crisply spoken retort.

“Well, didn’t I say you needn’t! Don’t get wrathy—don’t ’ee, don’t ’ee—now,—as my old Scotch nurse used to say.”

But Miss Mystery gave him no look, although she allowed him to fall into step beside her, and the two walked rapidly along.

“How’d you like the looks of the Doctor?” Pinky asked, hoping to induce conversation.

“I scarcely saw him.”

“Oh, you saw him,—though you had small chance to get to know him. Perfect old brick, but a little on edge of late. Approaching matrimony, I suppose. Did you notice his ruby stickpin?”

“Yes; it didn’t seem to suit him at all.”

“No; he’s a conservative dresser. But that pin,—it’s a famous gem,—was given him by his own class,—I mean his graduating class, but long after they graduated, and he had to promise to wear it once a week, so he usually gets into it on Sundays. It’s a corking stone!”

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