ed the
orphan and the widow, the most despicable of all men. My mother died
of shame, and I knew nothing. My father left last night for South
America, taking with him all the available funds, leaving me a curt
note of explanation. I have neither money, friends, nor home. The
newspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The banks
have seized everything."

She continued her story. Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; at
others, abject in her misery. She seemed to pass through the whole
gamut of the passions.

And all this while it ran through Warrington's head--"What a theme for
a play! What a voice!"

He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he do
for her other than offer her cold sympathy? He was ill at ease in the
face of this peculiar tragedy.

All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on her
lips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintry
day. Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous,
reverberating.

Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair.

"I beg your pardon!" he said.

The girl sat down before a small writing-table. She reached among some
papers and finally found what she sought.

"Mr. Warrington, all this has been in very bad taste; I frankly
confess it. There are two things you may do: leave the house in anger,
or remain to forgive me this imposition."

"I fail to understand." He was not only angered, but bewildered.

"I have deceived you."

"You mean that you have lured me here by trick? That you have played
upon my sympathies to gratify ..."

"Wait a moment," she interrupted proudly, her cheeks darkening richly.
"A trick, it is true; but there are extenuating circumstances. What I
have told you HAS happened, only it was not to-day nor yesterday.
Please remain seated till I have done. I AM poor; I WAS educated in
the cities I have named; I have to earn my living."

She rose and came over to his chair. She gave him a letter.

"Read this; you will fully understand."

Warrington experienced a mild chill as he saw a letter addressed to
him, and his rude scribble at the bottom of it.

Miss Challoner--I beg to state that I have neither the time nor the
inclination to bother with amateur actresses. Richard Warrington.

"It was scarcely polite, was it?" she asked, with a tinge of irony.
"It was scarcely diplomatic, either, you will admit. I simply asked
you for work. Surely, an honest effort to obta