r what reason?" he cried.

"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity," with a hint of
hauteur which did not in the least displease him.

"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have my
address. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reason
why, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum of
two dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple."

"There will be no one at home, not even the servants," wearily.

Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all?
But for what reason?

"You have me confused," he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tell
me what the trouble is."

"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, and
I am so young!"

Frightful? Young? He picked up his half-finished cigar, but
immediately let it fall. He stole a look at his watch; it was seven.

"Oh, I know what you must think of me," despairingly. "Nobody believes
in another's real misfortune in this horrid city. There are so many
fraudulent methods used to obtain people's sympathies that every one
has lost trust. I had no money when I entered here; but outside it was
so dark. Whenever I stopped, wondering where I should go, men turned
and stared at me. Once a policeman peered into my face suspiciously.
And I dared not return home, I dared not! No, no; I promise not to
embarrass you with any more tears." She brushed her eyes with a rapid
movement.

Warrington's success as a dramatist was due largely to his interest in
all things that passed under his notice. Nothing was too trivial to
observe. The tragic threads of human life, which escaped the eyes of
the passing many or were ignored by them, always aroused his interest
and attention; and more than once he had picked up one of these
threads and followed it to the end. Out of these seemingly
insignificant things he often built one of those breathless,
nerve-gripping climaxes which had, in a few years' time, made him
famous. In the present case he believed that he had stumbled upon
something worthy his investigation. This handsome young woman, richly
dressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money--there
was some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out what
it was. And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was young
and still believed in his Keats.

"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to go
there?" he asked, with some remnant