s a young
lawyer. He is defending her; he is asking the judge to be merciful,
because this is her first offence, because she stole the cloak to get
money to take her where she had been promised work. Because this is his
first case."

Winthrop gave a gasp of disbelief.

"You don't mean to tell me--" he cried.

"Hush!" commanded the girl. "And he persuades the judge to let her go,"
she continued quickly, her voice shaking, "and he and the girl walk out
of the court house together. And he talks to her kindly, and gives her
money to pay her way to the people who have promised her work."

Vera dropped her arm, and stepping back, faced Winthrop. Through her
tears her eyes were flashing proudly, gratefully; the feeling that shook
her made her voice vibrate. The girl seemed proud of her tears, proud of
her debt of gratitude.

"And I've never forgotten you," she said, her voice eager and trembling,
"and what you did for me. And I've watched you come to this city, and
fight it, and fight it, until you made them put you where you are." She
stopped to control her voice, and smiled at him. "And that's why I knew
you were District Attorney," she said; "and please--" she fumbled in
the mesh purse at her waist and taking a bill from it, threw it upon
the table. "And please, there's the money I owe you, and--and--I thank
you--and goodbye." She turned and almost ran from him toward the door to
the hall.

"Stop!" cried Winthrop.

Poised for flight, the girl halted, and looked back.

"When can I see you again?" said the man. The tone made it less a
question than a command.

In a manner as determined as his own, the girl shook her head.

"No!" she said.

"I must!" returned the man.

Again the girl shook her head, definitely, finally.

"It won't help you in your work," she pleaded, "to come to see me."

"I must!" repeated Winthrop simply.

The eyes of the girl met his, appealingly, defiantly.

"You'll be sorry," said the girl.

Winthrop laughed an eager, boyish laugh. When he spoke the tenseness in
his voice had gone. His tone was confident, bantering.

"Then I will not come to see you," he said.

Uncertain, puzzled, Vera looked at him in distress. She thought he was
mocking her.

"No?" she questioned.

"I'll come to see Vera, the medium," he explained.

Vera frowned, and then, in happy embarrassment, smiled wistfully.

"Oh, well," she stammered; "of course, if you're coming to consult me
professionally--my hou