ely Anthony Graham recognized that Polly O'Neill was or
might become his enemy. Not that she would do him any wrong, but that
if ever he was able to set out to accomplish the desire of his heart,
the weight of her influence and feeling would be against him. And he
did not underestimate the compelling power of a nature like Polly's.
She was wayward, high tempered, sometimes appearing unreliable and
almost unloving. Yet this last fact was never true of her. It was
only that her personality was of the kind that can want but one thing
at a time with all the passion and force of which it is capable. And
pursuing this desire, she might seem to forget her other impulses.
Polly, however, never did put aside her few really vital affections.
She and Betty Ashton might quarrel, might continue to disagree as they
had so often done in the past; yet Betty's welfare and happiness would
always be of intense concern to her friend. More because of the
quality of her imagination than from any single witnessed fact, Polly
had lately suspected that Anthony might learn to care more for her
friend than would be comfortable for anybody concerned in the affair.
And undoubtedly the young man had once been a thief if intention
counted. Therefore he might be a thief again, and in any case probably
needed to be forewarned of a number of things.

"There was a burglar in our room last night," Polly began, wasting no
time in preliminaries, but keeping her blue eyes fixed so directly upon
Anthony's that they were like blue flames.

Even before he could reply the young man wondered how there could be
people who thought this girl beautiful or even pretty. It was true
that at times her eyes were strangely magnetic, that her hair was
always black with that peculiar almost dead luster, and her lips like
two fine scarlet lines. Yet she was always too thin, her chin too
pointed and her cheekbones too high to touch any of his ideals of
beauty.

"I--I am sorry. That is--what _do you mean_?" the young fellow
stammered stupidly. And all at once the scowl gathered upon his face
that Betty Ashton had once misunderstood. It was a black, ugly look,
and in this case certainly was inspired by the impression that because
of his former misdeed, Polly might now be suspecting him of another.

And she left him no room for doubt.

"Oh, I am not exactly accusing you," she remarked coolly, "for I
presume that would hardly be fair. But I am not going to preten