Breakfast hour was half over when Alan went into the dining-room.  There were only two empty chairs at his table.  One was his own.  The other belonged to Mary Standish.  There was something almost aggressively suggestive in their simultaneous vacancy, it struck him at first.  He nodded as he sat down, a flash of amusement in his eyes when he observed the look in the young engineer’s face.  It was both envious and accusing, and yet Alan was sure the young man was unconscious of betraying an emotion.  The fact lent to the eating of his grapefruit an accompaniment of pleasing and amusing thought.  He recalled the young man’s name.  It was Tucker.  He was a clean-faced, athletic, likable-looking chap.  And an idiot would have guessed the truth, Alan told himself.  The young engineer was more than casually interested in Mary Standish; he was in love.  It was not a discovery which Alan made.  It was a decision, and as soon as possible he would remedy the unfortunate omission of a general introduction at their table by bringing the two together.  Such an introduction would undoubtedly relieve him of a certain responsibility which had persisted in attaching itself to him.

So he tried to think.  But in spite of his resolution he could not get the empty chair opposite him out of his mind.  It refused to be obliterated, and when other chairs became vacant as their owners left the table, this one straight across from him continued to thrust itself upon him.  Until this morning it had been like other empty chairs.  Now it was persistently annoying, inasmuch as he had no desire to be so constantly reminded of last night, and the twelve o’clock tryst of Mary Standish with Graham’s agent, Rossland.

He was the last at the table.  Tucker, remaining until his final hope of seeing Mary Standish was gone, rose with two others.  The first two had made their exit through the door leading from the dining salon when the young engineer paused.  Alan, watching him, saw a sudden change in his face.  In a moment it was explained.  Mary Standish came in.  She passed Tucker without appearing to notice him, and gave Alan a cool little nod as she seated herself at the table.  She was very pale.  He could see nothing of the flush of color that had been in her cheeks last night.  As she bowed her head a little, arranging her dress, a pool of sunlight played in her hair, and Alan was staring at it when she raised her eyes.  They were coolly beautiful, very direct, and without embarrassment.  Something inside him challenged their loveliness.  It seemed inconceivable that such eyes could play a part in fraud and deception, yet he was in possession of quite conclusive proof of it.  If they had lowered themselves an instant, if they had in any way betrayed a shadow of regret, he would have found an apology.  Instead of that, his fingers touched the handkerchief in his pocket.

“Did you sleep well, Miss Standish?” he asked politely.

“Not at all,” she replied, so frankly that his conviction was a bit unsettled.  “I tried to powder away the dark rings under my eyes, but I am afraid I have failed.  Is that why you ask?”