der, so supple, so--what was it?--svelte! And she had an
air of childish dignity that appealed to him tremendously. There was
nothing, he assured himself, of the vamp about her at all.

"I only want to get my rights," she said, tremulously. "I'm nearly out
of my mind. I don't know what to do or where to turn!"

"Is there"--he forced himself to utter the word with difficulty--"a--a
man involved?"

She flushed and bowed her head sadly, and instantly a poignant rage
possessed him.

"A man I trusted absolutely," she replied in a low voice.

"His name?"

"Winthrop Oaklander."

Tutt gasped audibly, for the name was that of one of Manhattan's most
distinguished families, the founder of which had swapped glass beads and
red-flannel shirts with the aborigines for what was now the most
precious water frontage in the world--and moreover, Mrs. Allison
informed Tutt, he was a clergyman.

"I don't wonder you're surprised!" agreed Mrs. Allison.

"Why--I--I'm--not surprised at all!" prevaricated Tutt, at the same time
groping for his silk handkerchief. "You don't mean to say you've got a
case against this man Oaklander!"

"I have indeed!" she retorted with firmly compressed lips. "That is, if
it is what you call a case for a man to promise to marry a woman and
then in the end refuse to do so."

"Of course it is!" answered Tutt. "But why on earth wouldn't he?"

"He found out I had been divorced," she explained. "Up to that time
everything had been lovely. You see he thought I was a widow."

"Ah!"

Mr. Tutt experienced another pang of resentment against mankind in
general.

"I had a leading part in one of the season's successes on Broadway," she
continued miserably. "But when Mr. Oaklander promised to marry me I left
the stage; and now--I have nothing!"

"Poor child!" sighed Tutt.

He would have liked to take her in his arms and comfort her, but he
always kept the door into the outer office open on principle.

"You know, Mr. Oaklander is the pastor of St. Lukes-Over-the-Way," said
Mrs. Allison. "I thought that maybe rather than have any publicity he
might do a little something for me."

"I suppose you've got something in the way of evidence, haven't you?
Letters or photographs or something?" inquired Tutt, reverting
absent-mindedly to his more professional manner.

"No," she answered. "We never wrote to one another. And when we went out
it was usually in the evening. I don't suppose half a dozen people have
eve