Gloria turned into her own room, locking the door behind her.  She looked at herself in her glass; she was pale, her eyes looked unnaturally big and brilliant.  She bit her lips and turned away.  From her blouse she brought out the parcel her father had entrusted to her, slipping it under her mattress, smoothing the counterpane when she had done.  Then, with but one clear thought in the world, that of getting into immediate touch with her mother, she went to the telephone.

On this floor, in a cosy little room opening upon the upstairs sun-porch, was an extension telephone, installed for the convenience of Gloria and her mother.  Gloria went tiptoeing to it rather than go down where Gratton was.  She rang the necessary bell for the operator in Truckee and put in her long-distance call in low tones which demanded a repetition before the operator got it right.  Then she sat with the instrument in her hand, waiting.  Once she heard Gratton’s step close to the stairs and jumped to her feet, thinking that he was coming up.  But he passed by and the house grew silent again.

She wondered when Mark King would come!  This afternoon—­to-night—­to-morrow?  Spalding had said nothing; she had not mentioned King to Spalding, since she had not mentioned him to Gratton during the long ride——­

Her telephone bell rang.  After the irritating way of telephones, she was put presently into communication with Mrs. Gaynor.

“Gloria!  Gloria!  Is that you?” Her mother’s voice sounded strange in Gloria’s ears—­shaken with emotion.

“Yes, mamma.  I——­”

“What has happened, child?  Tell me, quick!  I am nearly dead with worry.  Are you all right?”

“Of course, mamma.  I——­”

“But where are you?  Where were you all night?  Are you sure everything is all right?”

Never had Gloria known her extremely clear-headed mother to be so wildly disturbed, so nervously incoherent.

“I have told you I am all right.  I am up in the mountains, at our log house.  Didn’t Mr. Gratton tell you——?”

“Mr. Gratton?” Mrs. Gaynor was only more mystified.  “He has told me nothing; I haven’t seen him.  I tried to phone him—­oh, I have phoned everybody we know!—­and he is out of town, and——­”

But Gloria, panic-stricken by something her mother had said, cried: 

“You have phoned everybody! Oh, mamma!  What—­what do you mean?”

“When you didn’t come in last night—­I have been crazy with worry!  I thought you might be spending the night with one of your friends; I thought that maybe something had happened and it was being kept from me.  I rang up Georgia Stark and Mildred Carter and the Farrilees—­and even the emergency hospitals.  I thought——­”

The rest was only a meaningless buzzing in Gloria’s ears; she sat speechless herself, bereft of all reason for a dull moment, then harbouring quick, clear thoughts, as swift, as vivid as lightning, and in the end as blinding by their very quality of blazing light. The newspapers!