11winner "It looks sort of whopper-jawed, doesn't it, Miss Pat?" asked David, hesitating. "I can see it's going to be a stunner when it's done, but I guess I'm weak on sculpture anyway. I can't understand it in the green stage." "I did not find it at all," rejoined the major, gloomily; "Lady Meg brought it to me."
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"You have certainly made out a strong case against this man," said Meg, after a pause, "but it is all theory. Your proofs?"
"Half-an-hour will be sufficient," said the major, in a serious voice. "I wish you to tell me what took place on the night you were drugged."
"I guess what you mean--Miss Dallas."
The next afternoon when Elinor, completely restored after a day's rest, took out her drawing-board and began to work, Patricia brought out her own study for a final criticism before laboriously lugging it up to the Academy.
And its goodness was the wile,
"Did he apologize for his use of it before or after the explanation?" was Jen's final question.
I went.
"I didn't. I found it."
"Now you're safe and sound, with no bones broken," said Griffin, as Patricia sank down on the roomy couch. "You're a nice one, you are, scaring us into a blue fit just when we were about to blister our paws with applause for the heroine of the day."
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Patricia broke in on her dismal forebodings with a rippling, silvery laugh.
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"Oh!" said David, with a sneer. "I overheard you arrange to marry her. But you'll never do that while I am alive, or Mrs. Dallas either."
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"What does Dr. Etwald say about it?"
"Catalepsy?" guessed Major Jen, giving his mustache a nervous twist.
"He did, sir. Leastways he arsked me to arsk Dido 'bout it."
