ad--"

"Of another?" he laughed coarsely, looking her over with an
appraising scrutiny. "Well, a fellow might have a worse--substitute."

Patsy crimsoned. It seemed incredible that the man she had listened
to that day in Marjorie Schuyler's den, who had then gripped her
sympathies and thereby pulled her after him in spite of past illness
and all common sense, should be the man speaking now. And yet--what
was it Gregory Jessup had said about him? Had he not implied that old
King Midas had long ago warped his son's trust in women until he had
come to look upon them all as modern Circes? And gradually shame for
herself changed into pity for him. What a shabby performance life
must seem to such as he!

She had an irresistible desire to take him with her behind the scenes
and show him what it really was; to point out how with a change of
line here, a new cue there, and a different drop behind; with a
choice of fellow-players, and better lights, and the right spirit
back of it all--what a good thing he could make of his particular
part. But would he see--could she make him understand? It was worth
trying.

"You are every bit wrong," she said, evenly. "Look at me. Do I look
like an adventuress? And haven't you ever had anybody kind to you
simply because they had a preference for kindness?"

The two looked at each other steadily while the machine crawled at
minimum speed down the deserted road. Her eyes never flinched under
the blighting weight of his, although her heart seemed to stop a
hundred times and the soul of her shrivel into nothing.

"Well," she heard herself saying at last, "don't you think you can
believe in me?"

The man laughed again, coarsely. "Believe in you? That's precisely
what I'm doing this minute--believing in your cleverness and a deuced
pretty way with you. Now don't get mad, my dear. You are all
daughters of Eve, and your intentions are very innocent--of course."

Pity and sympathy left Patsy like starved pensioners. The eyes
looking into his blazed with righteous anger and a hating distrust;
they carried to him a stronger, more direct message than words could
have done. His answer was to double the speed of the car.

"Stop the car!" she demanded.

"Oh, ho! we're getting scared, are we? Repenting of our haste?" The
grim line of his mouth became more sinister. "No man relishes a
woman's contempt, and he generally makes her pay when he can. Now I
came for pleasure, and I'm going to get it." A