rank from him a little and then straightened herself
suddenly and faced him with a flash in her eyes.

"No," she said. "Once I would have put my hand in the fire for you;
but when you left me in that dance house I knew all there was to know
of you,--and I hoped you might never come in my way again. Shamed as I
am, I could not fall so low as you did then."

"I don't know that I'm very proud of the part I played," and though
Courthorne smiled there was a faint flush in his face. "Still, you
see, I hadn't a dollar then, and what could I do? Any way, that's done
with, and I was wondering if you would let me congratulate you. Potter
seems to be a general favorite."

He saw the apprehension once more creep into the girl's eyes and
noticed the little tremor in her voice as she said, "You have heard of
it? Of course, you would. What do you mean to do?"

"Nothing," and Courthorne smiled reassuringly. "Why should I do
anything? After all, I owe you a little reparation. Silence is easy
and in our case, I think, advisable. Presumably you are as fond of the
worthy Potter as you were of me, and there is no doubt that he is
considerably more deserving of affection."

His good-humored acquiescence was in one respect almost brutal, and the
girl winced under it, in spite of her evident relief.

"Lance," she said, with a curious forceful gravity, "Frank Potter is
such a man as you could never be. There can't be many like him. As I
said, there was a time when I would have slaved for you and starved
with you cheerfully; but you threw me off,--and, now this man who is
big and strong enough to forget what you brought me to has given me a
chance to wipe out the past, I do not think I need be afraid of you.
At first I was a little so, but it wasn't altogether for myself. I
want to warn you. If you try to make mischief he will kill you."

"Ah," said Courthorne quietly. "Well, it wouldn't be very astonishing
if he attempted it, and nobody would blame him; but I have, as it
happens, no intention of provoking him. After all, it was my fault,
and you were too good for me, Ailly."

He stopped a moment and smiled, for there was in him a certain
half-whimsical cruelty. "Still, perhaps, it's a little rough on the
excellent Potter, though from what you said one would think that you
had told him--something."

The crimson crept into the girl's cheek. "He knows everything--except
who you are. That is why I am afraid. If he fou