Two days elapsed, following the call of the belligerent Stanley Forde, before Arline ended her visit to Grace.  Once she had departed, Grace missed her sorely.  Her coming had been a timely break in the now sad routine which Grace daily pursued.  Many of her Oakdale acquaintances and friends were still vacationing at the seashore or in the mountains.  Had they been at home, she would not have sought them for companionship.  Aside from the many hours she spent with Mrs. Gray, she clung desperately to Nora and Hippy Wingate.  Even jovial Hippy was considerably less lively than of yore.  His affection for Tom Gray was only second to his devoted friendship for Reddy Brooks, who had been his childhood’s chum.  Among the four young men, Tom, David, Hippy and Reddy, an ideal comradeship had ever existed, unfaltering and unchangeable.  Tom’s sudden and still unexplained removal had cast a pall over the remaining trio that was likely to linger indefinitely.

On the afternoon of the next day after Arline’s departure, a highly-excited young man, whose plump, genial face wore an expression of angry concern, hurried up the walk to the Harlowe’s veranda.

“Why, Hippy Wingate, what are you doing here so early?” demanded Nora, from the porch swing.  “You can’t have your dinner yet.  It’s only four o’clock.  When you’re invited to six o’clock dinner you mustn’t arrive two hours beforehand.  Didn’t you know that?” This wifely counsel was accompanied by a teasing smile that belied its harshness.

“Don’t pay any attention to her, Hippy,” called Grace mischievously.  “Come up on the veranda where it’s nice and cool.  I give you permission to sit in the porch swing beside the haughty Mrs. Wingate.  Better still, I’ll bring you some fruit lemonade and a whole plate of those fat little chocolate cakes you like so much.”

“Now I hope you understand at last how much other people appreciate me,” rebuked Hippy, as he plumped himself down in the swing with an energy that set it swaying wildly.  “I shan’t give you a single cake.”

“I don’t want any.  I’ve had four already.  I hope you understand that you’ve made me prick my finger,” retorted Nora, dropping her embroidery to hold up the injured member for inspection.

“Too bad,” mourned Hippy, applying the familiar remedy of the devoted.  “Did you really lacerate your itty bitty finger?  I don’t see any signs of it.”

“Only the blind can’t see,” flung back Nora.  “All joking aside, what brought you here so early?”

Hippy cast an uneasy glance toward the doorway through which Grace had just vanished.  “This,” he returned soberly.  Unfolding a New York City newspaper, he pointed to a black headline which read, “Young Man Mysteriously Disappears.”

Nora drew a sharp breath of dismay as her startled glance traveled down the column.  “Where ­how ­” she stammered.

“I don’t know.”  Hippy glared savagely at the offending newspaper.  “I’ve got to show it to Grace,” he deplored.  “I’d rather be shot.  Some one broke a confidence.  It’s outrageous in who ever broke it.”

“I should say so,” agreed Nora.  “You’d better ­Here she comes now.”

Grace stepped into view, carrying a quaint Japanese tray laden with delectable cheer.  In her crisp dotted swiss gown of white, her sensitive face a trifle thinner than of yore, she looked hardly older than in her freshman days at high school.  “Here you are, weary wanderer,” she said gayly.  “Eat, drink and be merry.”

Hippy groaned inwardly as he sprang from the swing to relieve her of the tray.  “Grace,” he began with grave affection, “I have something not in the least pleasant to tell you.  I don’t ­”

“About Tom?” Grace’s question rang out sharply on the drowsy air.

“It’s not bad news of him,” Hippy hastily assured, “but it’s about him.”

“Then tell me quickly.”  Grace braced herself for the shock, her gray eyes riveted on Hippy.

“Here it is.”  Hippy handed her the fateful newspaper.  “I wanted to be the first to let you know it,” he added in sympathetic apology.  “I am afraid some one has played you false.”

Grace focused her gaze on the flaring headline.  Sinking into the nearest porch chair she read on, apparently lost to her surroundings.  Raising her eyes at last from the printed sheet she astonished both Hippy and Nora with a quiet, “I am glad of this.”

“Glad?” rose the inquiring chorus.

“Yes; glad.  During the last two weeks I’ve felt very queer about keeping Tom’s disappearance a secret.  At first I dreaded to have any one know, on account of Fairy Godmother’s horror of gossip and on my own account, too.  She was afraid that some malicious person might start the story that he had purposely dropped out of sight.  We know that could not be so, yet others might not share our belief in him.  But lately I’ve been seeing matters differently.  So long as the affair is kept a secret, he will never be found.  With the news of his disappearance spread abroad by the newspapers, some one may come to light who has seen him or heard of him in some way.  I am going to try to regard the public as friends who would like to help us all they can.”

“I think you are right about that,” emphasized Hippy.  “You are true blue, Grace.  You have carried yourself through this nightmare summer like a soldier and a gentleman.  That’s the highest praise I can offer.  No wonder you annexed the name ‘Loyalheart’ at college.”

“Grace, have you any idea who furnished the copy for this?” Nora pointed a disapproving finger at the newspaper.  “Do you ­that is ­do you suppose one of the girls ­I thought ­perhaps ­”

“No, Kathleen West would never break her word.”  Grace smiled whimsically.  “You were thinking of her?”

“Yes; I knew she was connected with a newspaper,” admitted Nora, coloring.

“None of the girls to whom I wrote about Tom had anything to do with this.  I trust them as fully as I trust you.  This information found its way into the newspapers through a different channel.”

“Then you know who ­” began Nora.

“Yes, I know,” Across Grace’s brain flashed the vision of an angry face, lighted by two narrowing black eyes.  She mentally heard a threatening voice predict vindictively, “You will regret this interference in my affairs.”  The misdirected letter had again created trouble.  She recalled having feared this when Arline had explained her blunder in confusing the two letters.  Undoubtedly in writing to Grace, Daffydowndilly had mentioned Tom Gray’s name and, in expressing her sympathy, had practically gone over the information contained in Grace’s letter to her regarding the postponement of her marriage.

“I should like to tell you, children,” she continued, “but I can’t, because the telling would involve a certain person whose confidence I hold.  I will say this much.  It was petty spite which prompted the deed.”  Grace’s lips curved in faint scorn.  Stanley Forde was truly a person of small soul and less honor.  Such despicable retaliation against a woman was the last touch needed to prove his unfitness to protect the welfare of loyal little Daffydowndilly.

“Oh, don’t think of us,” hastily assured Hippy.  “We wouldn’t listen to you if you tried to tell us.  We understand.  All the more credit to you for behaving like a clam.  That’s a compliment.  Perhaps I had better explain.  You notice I didn’t say you looked like a clam.”  Hippy tried to infuse a little humor into the situation.

Grace flashed him an amused smile. “’I thank the gods for a saving sense of humor,’” she quoted.  Her face instantly sobering she said:  “We ought to see Aunt Rose at once about this newspaper affair.  Perhaps the three of us ought to go up to her house before dinner.  We shall have time.”

“Are you sure you would rather not go alone?” Nora put the question in her usual direct fashion.

“No; I wish you and Hippy to go with me.  But first, Hippy, you must eat your cakes and drink your lemonade.”  Grace picked up the well-filled tray which Hippy had temporarily set aside and held it out to him.  “Don’t let this queer new turn in my affairs drive away your desire for cakes.”

“You are the eighth wonder, Grace.  If the universe were to turn upside down I believe you’d forget your own jolts and fly to the rescue of the other human nine-pins.”  Hippy looked his admiration of Grace’s sturdy stand under the buffets of misfortune.  “I will eat every last one of these alluring tidbits and drink two glasses of lemonade just to show you that I know hospitality when I meet it on a veranda.”

“See that you do.  Now excuse me.  I must show this newspaper to Mother.  When I come back we’d better go to see Fairy Godmother.”

The confidential session between mother and daughter lasted not more than ten minutes, yet before it ended Grace crept silently into the shelter of her mother’s arms to shed a few tears on her all-comforting shoulder.  It was not the printed article relating to Tom which prompted them.  It was poignant sorrow for his long unexplained absence from her that brought brief faltering.

When she returned to the veranda, where Hippy was busy with the last of the cakes and his second glass of lemonade, her sensitive features bore no sign of her moment of weakness.

“I have kept my vow.”  Hippy pointed significantly to the empty plate.  “Nothing remains but a few discouraged crumbs.”  Suddenly changing his light tone, he raised his glass of lemonade and said with solemn intensity:  “Here’s to Tom Gray; a speedy and safe return.  I can’t help feeling that it will be so.”

“Thank you, Hippy.”  The faint color in Grace’s cheeks deepened.  A gleam of new hope kindled in her eyes.  “You said a while ago that you wondered at my being so calm about Tom.  I can’t be anything else, because I never allow myself to think that he won’t come back.  If I did, I’d be utterly miserable.  You thought this article in the newspaper might hurt me.  Two weeks ago it would have done so.  But now!  Somehow it seems to me to be the first definite link in the chain that stretches between him and me.  It’s the beginning of the end, and just as surely as I stand here I believe something good will come of it.”