In a hostile tone Mrs. Earle addressed her.

"Rose," she said, "this is the district attorney." To him she added:
"She calls herself Rose Gerard."

One hand the girl held close against her side, with the other she
brushed back the hair from her forehead. From half-closed eyes she
stared at Wharton defiantly.

"Well," she challenged, "what about it?"

Wharton seated himself in front of the roller-top desk.

"Are you strong enough to tell me?" he asked.

His tone was kind, and this the girl seemed to resent.

"Don't you worry," she sneered, "I'm strong enough. Strong enough to
tell _all_ I know--to you, and to the papers, and to a jury--until I get
justice." She clinched her free hand and feebly shook it at him.
"_That's_ what I'm going to get," she cried, her voice breaking
hysterically, "justice."

From behind the armchair in which the girl half-reclined Mrs. Earle
caught the eye of the district attorney and shrugged her shoulders.

"Just what _did_ happen?" asked Wharton.

Apparently with an effort the girl pulled herself together.

"I first met your brother-in-law--" she began.

Wharton interrupted quietly.

"Wait!" he said. "You are not talking to me as anybody's brother-in-law,
but as the district attorney."

The girl laughed vindictively.

"I don't wonder you're ashamed of him!" she jeered.

Again she began: "I first met Ham Cutler last May. He wanted to marry me
then. He told me he was not a married man."

As her story unfolded, Wharton did not again interrupt; and speaking
quickly, in abrupt, broken phrases, the girl brought her narrative to
the moment when, as she claimed, Cutler had attempted to kill her. At
this point a knock at the locked door caused both the girl and her
audience to start. Wharton looked at Mrs. Earle inquiringly, but she
shook her head, and with a look at him also of inquiry, and of suspicion
as well, opened the door.

With apologies her head waiter presented a letter.

"For Mr. Wharton," he explained, "from his chauffeur."

Wharton's annoyance at the interruption was most apparent. "What the
devil--" he began.

He read the note rapidly, and with a frown of irritation raised his eyes
to Mrs. Earle.

"He wants to go to New Rochelle for an inner tube," he said. "How long
would it take him to get there and back?"

The hard and distrustful expression upon the face of Mrs. Earle, which
was habitual, was now most strongly in evidence. Her eyes searched those
of W