IT WAS more than accident that took d**k Martin to the library that previous afternoon. He had come to feel that a day without a glimpse of this tantalizing girl was a day wasted. And he remembered, with a sense of virtuous pride, that he was a subscriber and entitled to walk into this sedate establishment and demand, if he so desired, the most unintelligible volumes on biophysics.
“Miss Lansdown is gone,” said one of the officials. “It is her early day. She went away with a lady.”
“With her mother?” he asked.
“No,” said the girl, shaking her head; “it wasn’t Mrs Lansdown. I know her very well. It was a lady who drove up to the door in a Rolls. I’ve never seen her before.”
There was nothing remarkable in this. Although she was beginning to fill a large space of his life, d**k scarcely
