that should have defied pursuit.

During the drive I instructed my companion emphatically.

"Since you have no friends here, you must have confidence in me,
_mademoiselle_," I said.

"And you are my friend? Well, _monsieur_, be sure I trust you," she
answered.

"You must listen to me attentively, then," I continued. "You must not
admit anybody to the apartment until I ring to-morrow. I have the key,
and I shall arrive at nine and ring, and then unlock the door. But
take no notice of the bell. You understand?"

"Yes, _monsieur_," she answered wearily. Her eyelids drooped; I saw
that she was very sleepy.

When the taxicab deposited us in front of the house, I glanced hastily
up and down the road. There was another cab at the east end of the
street, but I could not discern if it were approaching me or
stationary. I opened the front door quickly and admitted my companion,
then preceded her up the uncarpeted stairs to my little apartment on
the top floor. I was the only tenant in the house, and therefore there
would be no cause for embarrassment.

As I opened the door of my apartment the dog pushed past me. Again I
had forgotten it; but it had not forgotten its mistress.

I looked inside my bare little rooms. It was hard to say good-by.

"Till to-morrow, _mademoiselle_," I said. "And won't you tell me your
name?"

She drew off her glove and put one hand in mine.

"Jacqueline," she answered. "And yours?"

"Paul," I said.

"_Au revoir_, Monsieur Paul, then, and take my gratitude with you for
your goodness."

I let her hand fall and hurried down the stairs, confused and choking,
for there was a wedding-ring upon her finger.

CHAPTER II

BACK IN THE ROOM

The situation had become more preposterous than ever. Two hours before
it would have been unimaginable; one hour ago I had merely been
offering aid to a young woman in distress; now she was occupying my
rooms and I was hurrying along Tenth Street, careless as to my
destination, and feeling as though the whole world was crumbling about
my head because she wore a wedding-ring.

Certainly I was not in love with her, so far as I could analyze my
emotions. I had been conscious only of a desire to help her, merging
by degrees into pity for her friendlessness.

But the wedding-ring--what hopes, then, had begun to spring up in my
heart? I could not fathom them; I only knew that my exaltation had
given place to profound dejection.

As I