that way. She stammered something about "general principles," but he
was regarding her so fixedly that her attempt at dissembling was most
unconvincing.

"Or perhaps," said he, almost savagely, but guardedly, "you are
confusing me with some one else."

This was broad enough to demand instant resentment. She took refuge in
the opportunity.

"Do you mean to insult me, Mr. Fairfax?" she demanded, coldly, drawing
back in her chair.

He laughed harshly.

"Is there any one else?" he asked, gripping one of her small hands in
his great fist.

She jerked the hand away. "I don't like that, Mr. Fairfax. Please
remember it. Don't ever do it again. You have no right to ask such
questions of me, either."

"I'm a fool to have asked," he said, gruffly. "You'd be a fool to
answer. We'll let it go at that. So that's your wedding ring, eh? Odd
that I shouldn't have noticed it before."

She was angry with herself, so she vented the displeasure on him.

"You never took much notice of your wife's wedding ring, if tales are
true."

"Please, Miss Duluth, I----"

"Oh, I read all about the case," she ran on. "You must have hated the
notoriety. I suppose most of the things she charged you with were
lies."

He pulled his collar away from his throat.

"Is it too hot in the room?" she inquired, innocently.

His grin was a sickly one. "Do you always make it so hot?" he asked.
"This is my first visit to your little paradise, you must remember.
Don't make it too hot for me."

"It isn't paradise when it gets too hot," was her safe comment.

Fairfax's wife had divorced him a year or two before. The referee was
not long in deciding the case in her favour. As they were leaving
Chambers, Fairfax's lawyer had said to his client:--"Well, we've saved
everything but honour." And Fairfax had replied:--"You would have
saved that, too, if I had given you a free rein." From which it may be
inferred that Fairfax was something of a man despite his lawyer.

He was one of those typical New Yorkers who were Pittsburgers or
Kansas Citians in the last incarnation--which dated back eight or ten
years, at the most, and which doesn't make any difference on
Broadway--with more money than he was used to and a measureless
capacity for spending. His wife had married him when money was an
object to him. When he got all the money he wanted he went to New York
and began a process of elevating the theatre by lending his presence
to the stage door. The stage d