out. I don't think you'll learn more except by going. Only believe me, if I were you, I'd go at once.
P.S. You may have to look out when you get there. But you can see to yourself.
Ethel looked up. "Did anything follow this?"
"In explanation from Hus? No."
"Then what did you do?"
"Started.—It must look silly to you, I suppose. But the war was over; I was let out. I had nowhere to go except to Hus—and he didn't want me—or else come back here. So I came here."
He was now dissembling, she knew, the effect upon himself of his experience in London and this letter.
"I'd have come, in your place, I think," Ethel said quietly. "Though I suppose that your friend means that he obtained this information by—unusual methods."
"Yes."
"From my father?"
"He doesn't say that."
"But you think it."
"A good many times since leaving France, I've thought that the whole business was a hoax, Miss Carew, especially when I got all the way to Chicago and even to Escanaba without finding any one who had ever heard of St. Florentin."
"But now?"
He looked down, his gray eyes challenging hers honestly and seriously.
"What do you think, Miss Carew?"
"Well, certainly there is a St. Florentin—and you didn't know it in December."
