Jones's eyes glared past her, at the roses and the
mignonette and the fresh lilies-of-the-valley which lay
in the meshes of soft spraying green. They were
Mathewson's gift to her, Jones's wife. His cheeks
reddened again. They were an added proof, and an
added insult.
" I don't want those here. Miss Wright," he com-
manded, peremptorily. " Take them out. Throw
them away. I don't care what you do with them;
only take them and keep them out of my sight."

As he came toward her, Mabel leaned forward, pro-
tectingly, over the flowers.
" But," she objected with amazement, and with a
trace of defiance, ^^ Mrs. Jones told me to put them
here."

" Well, / tell you," began Jones. He hesitated,
realizing that he was thwarted. ^^ I see," he said.
" She'll want to know why. Yes," he added, awk-
wardly. " Yes, of course. I was hasty. We'D let
them stay — for the present." With some satisfac-
tion in that last significant phrase, he made his re-



THE YAEDSTICK MAN



treat. His reminded caution, however, caused him to
stop in the doorway.
You won't speak of this, Miss Wright ? '*
Why, no, of course not,*' said the girl.
She was puzzled, however. For a full minute after
he had gone, she stared down at the flowers inquiring-
ly, as if they could answer the question which was in
her mind.
a
«



CHAPTER XII

MATHEWSON'S PLAN DOES NOT WORK OUT

THE goblins were abroad. Mabel Wright felt
them, had felt them, indeed, all the afternoon.
