rested in the way our girls were treated; I wanted to
know about them--to be sure they were given a fair chance--earned
enough to live decently--and other things about their lives--you can
imagine...."

"I think I understand," said P. Sybarite gravely.

"I had warned them more than once I'd run away if they didn't let me
alone.... You see, Mr. Shaynon insisted it was my father's wish that I
should marry Bayard, and on that understanding I promised to marry him
when I came into possession of the estate. But that didn't suit--or
rather, it seemed to satisfy them only for a little time. Very soon
they were pestering me again to marry at once. I couldn't see the
need--and finally I kept my word and ran away--took my room in
Thirty-eighth Street, and before long secured work in my own store. At
first I was sure they'd identify me immediately; but somehow no one
seemed to suspect me, and I stayed on, keeping my eyes open and
collecting evidence of a system of mismanagement and oppression--but I
can't talk about that calmly--"

"Please don't if it distresses you," P. Sybarite begged gently.

"At all events," she resumed, "it wasn't until to-night that Bayard
found out where I was living--as you saw. At first I refused to return
home, but he declared my disappearance was creating a scandal; that
one newspaper threatened to print a story about my elopement with a
chauffeur, and that there was other unpleasant talk about Mr.
Shaynon's having caused me to be spirited away so that he might gain
control of my estate--"

"Wonder what put _that_ into his head!" P. Sybarite broke in with
quickening curiosity.

"He insisted that these stories could only be refuted if I'd come home
for a few days and show myself at this dance to-night. And when I
still hesitated, he threatened--"

"What?" growled the little man.

"That, if I didn't consent, he'd telephone the paper to go ahead and
publish that awful story about the chauffeur."

P. Sybarite caught himself barely in time to shut his teeth upon an
expletive.

"There!" said the girl. "Don't let's talk about it any longer. After
what you've told me.... Well, it's all over now!"

P. Sybarite pondered this in manifest doubt.

"Are you sure?" he queried with his head thoughtfully to one side.

"Am I sure?" she repeated, puzzled. "Rather! I tell you, I've finished
with the Shaynons for good and all. I never liked either of
them--never understood what father saw in old Mr. Shaynon