oing?
She must be got rid of before Kelly's arrival, and yet he found himself
wavering under her potent and yet scarcely exerted influence. The
desperation of weakness is apt to be more brutal than the determination
of strength. He remembered why he had come upstairs, and blurted out:
"But you can't stay here. The rules are very stringent in regard to--to
strangers like yourself. It will be known who you really are and what
people say of you. Even your divorce will tell against you. It's all
wrong, I know--but what can I do? I didn't make the rules. I am only a
servant of the landlord, and must carry them out."

She leaned back against the sofa and laughed silently. But she presently
recovered herself, although with the same expression of fatigue. "Don't
be alarmed, my poor Jim! If you mean your friend, Mr. Woodridge, I
know him. It was he, himself, who suggested my coming here. And
don't misunderstand him--nor me either. He's only a good friend of
Sylvester's; they had some speculation together. He's coming here to see
me after Louis arrives. He's waiting in San Francisco for his wife and
daughter, who come on the same steamer. So you see you won't get into
trouble on my account. Don't look so scared, my dear boy."

"Does he know that you knew me?" said Reddy, with a white face.

"Perhaps. But then that was three months ago," returned the lady,
smiling, "and you know how you have reformed since, and grown ever so
much more steady and respectable."

"Did he talk to you of me?" continued Reddy, still aghast.

"A little--complimentary of course. Don't look so frightened. I didn't
give you away."

Her laugh suddenly ceased, and her face changed into a more nervous
activity as she rose and went toward the window. She had heard the sound
of wheels outside--the coach had just arrived.

"There's Mr. Woodridge now," she said in a more animated voice. "The
steamer must be in. But I don't see Louis; do you?"

She turned to where Reddy was standing, but he was gone.

The momentary animation of her face changed. She lifted her shoulders
with a half gesture of scorn, but in the midst of it suddenly threw
herself on the sofa, and buried her face in her hands.

A few moments elapsed with the bustle of arrival in the hall and
passages. Then there was a hesitating step at her door. She quickly
passed her handkerchief over her wet eyes and resumed her former look
of weary acceptation. The door opened. But it was Mr. Woodridge