“Please don’t if it distresses you,” P. Sybarite begged gently.

“At all events,” she resumed, “it wasn’t until to-night that Bayard found out where I was living—­as you saw.  At first I refused to return home, but he declared my disappearance was creating a scandal; that one newspaper threatened to print a story about my elopement with a chauffeur, and that there was other unpleasant talk about Mr. Shaynon’s having caused me to be spirited away so that he might gain control of my estate—­”

“Wonder what put that into his head!” P. Sybarite broke in with quickening curiosity.

“He insisted that these stories could only be refuted if I’d come home for a few days and show myself at this dance to-night.  And when I still hesitated, he threatened—­”

“What?” growled the little man.

“That, if I didn’t consent, he’d telephone the paper to go ahead and publish that awful story about the chauffeur.”

P. Sybarite caught himself barely in time to shut his teeth upon an expletive.

“There!” said the girl.  “Don’t let’s talk about it any longer.  After what you’ve told me....  Well, it’s all over now!”

P. Sybarite pondered this in manifest doubt.

“Are you sure?” he queried with his head thoughtfully to one side.

“Am I sure?” she repeated, puzzled.  “Rather!  I tell you, I’ve finished with the Shaynons for good and all.  I never liked either of them—­never understood what father saw in old Mr. Shaynon to make him trust him the way he did.  And now, after what has happened ...  I shall stop at the Plaza to-night—­they know me there—­and telephone for my things.  If Mr. Shaynon objects, I’ll see if the law won’t relieve me of his guardianship.”

“If you’ll take a fool’s advice, you’ll do that, whether or no.  An uneasy conscience is a fine young traitor to its possessor, as a rule.”

“Now, what can you mean by that?”

“I don’t believe there’s been any whisper of suspicion that the Shaynons had caused you to be spirited away.”

“Then why did Bayard say—­”

“Because he was thinking about it!  The unconscious self-betrayal of the unskilled but potential criminal.”

“Oh!” cried the girl in horror.  “I don’t think that—­”

“Well, I do,” said P. Sybarite gloomily.  “I know they’re capable of it.  It wouldn’t be the first time Brian Shaynon ruined a friend.  There was once a family in this town by the name of Sybarite—­the family of a rich and successful man, associated with Brian Shaynon in a business way.  I’m what’s left of it, thanks to my father’s faith in old Brian’s integrity.  It’s too long a story to detail; but the old fox managed to keep within the letter of the law when he robbed me of my inheritance, and there’s no legal way to get back at him.  I’m telling you all this only to show you how far the man’s to be trusted.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—!”