m so often for sympathy, why her fingers, which a
moment ago were resting lightly upon his hand, and which she had drawn
away with reluctance, should have burned him like pin-pricks of fire.
The woman who wishes to allure may be as subtle as possible in her
methods, but a sense of her purpose, however vague it may be, is
generally communicated to her would be victim. Tavernake was becoming
distinctly uneasy. He had no vanity. He knew from the first that this
beautiful creature belonged to a world far removed from any of which he
had any knowledge. The only solution of the situation which presented
itself to him was that she might be thinking of borrowing money from
him!

"There was never a time in my life," she continued softly, "when I felt
that I needed a friend more. I am afraid that my sister has prejudiced
you against me, Mr. Tavernake. Beatrice is very young, and the young are
not always sympathetic, you know. They do not make allowances, they do
not understand."

"Why did you tell Mr. Dowling things which were not true?" he asked
bluntly.

She sighed, and looked down at the handkerchief with which she had been
toying.

"It was a very silly piece of conceit," she admitted, "but, you see, I
had to tell him something."

"Why did you come to the office at all?" he continued.

"Do you really want to know that?" she whispered softly.

"Well,--"

"I will tell you," she went on suddenly. "It sounds foolish, in a way,
and yet it wasn't really, because, you see,"--she smiled at him--"I was
anxious about Beatrice. I saw you come out of the office that morning,
and I recognized you at once. I knew that it was you who had been with
Beatrice. I made an excuse about the house to come and see whether I
could find you out."

Tavernake, in whom the vanity was not yet born, missed wholly the
significance of her smile, her trifling hesitation.

"All that," he declared, "is no reason why you should have told Mr.
Dowling that your husband was a millionaire and had given you carte
blanche about taking a house."

"Did I mention--my husband?"

"Distinctly," he assured her.

For the first time she had faltered in her speech. Tavernake felt that
she herself was shaken by some emotion. Her eyes for a moment were
strangely-lit; something had come into her face which he did not
understand. Then it passed. The delightful smile, half deprecating,
half appealing, once more parted her lips; the gleam of horror no longer
shone i