s your interest in the business?"

"Well, if you don't mind I shall have to go a little into detail. You
are at liberty?"

"Go on."

"She is a friend of mine. No, I mean what I say; there is absolutely
nothing else between us, and never has been. I should like to know
whether you are satisfied to believe that; much depends on it."

"Age and appearance?"

"About twenty--not quite so much--and strikingly handsome."

"H'm. Position in life?"

"A year ago was on the streets, to put it plainly; since then has been
getting her living at laundry-work."

"H'm. Name?"

"Ida Starr."

Mr. Woodstock had been gazing at the toes of his boots, still the same
smile on his face. When he heard the name he ceased to smile, but did
not move at all. Nor did he look up as he asked the next question.

"Is that her real name?"

"I believe so."

The old man drew up his feet, threw one leg over the other, and began
to tap upon his knee with the fingers of one hand. He was silent for a
minute at least.

"What do you know about her?" he then inquired, looking steadily at
Waymark, with a gravity which surprised the latter. "I mean, of her
earlier life. Do you know who she is at all?"

"She has told me her whole story--a rather uncommon one, full of good
situations."

"What do you mean?"

The words were uttered with such harsh impatience that Waymark started.

"What annoys you?" he asked, with surprise.

"Tell me something of the story," said the other, regaining his
composure, and apparently wishing to affect indifference. "I have a
twinge of that damned rheumatism every now and then, and it makes me
rather crusty. Do you think her story is to be depended upon?"

"Yes, I believe it is."

And Waymark linked briefly the chief points of Ida's history, as he
knew it, the old man continually interrupting him with questions.

"Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew,
"and explain the scrape she's got into."

Waymark did so.

"And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite
finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?"

"Absolutely nothing."

"I don't believe you."

It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the table.
The old man could no longer conceal the emotion that possessed him.
Waymark looked at him in astonishment, unable to comprehend his
behaviour.

"Well if you don't believe me, of course I can offer no proof; and I
know w