reason he was never to know.

It was about half-way through dinner when Stella Croyle, who had
directed many a furtive, anxious glance to the averted face of her
companion, attacked directly.

"What is the matter with you to-night?" she asked, interrupting him in
the midst of a rattle of futilities. "Why should you recite to me from
the guide-book about the University of Upsala?"

"It appears to be most interesting, and quaint," replied Luttrell
hastily.

"Then we might hire a motor-car and run out there to luncheon.
To-morrow! Just you and I."

"No." Harry Luttrell exclaimed suddenly and Stella Croyle drew back. Her
face clouded. She had won the first round, but victory brought her no
ease. She knew now from the explosion of his "No" and the swift alarm
upon his face that something threatened her.

"You must tell me what has happened," she cried. "You must! Oh, you turn
away from me!"

From the dark steep garden at their feet rose a clamour of cheers--to
Luttrell an intervention of Providence.

"Listen," he said.

Here and there a man or a woman rose at the dinner tables and looked