Anderson." This statement conflicted with the theory of her single
instant with Dan, but she felt that in such a cause, in the cause of
giving pain to a woman like Mrs. Pasmer, the deflection from exact truth
was justifiable. She hurried on: "I rather expected he might run
down here, but now that they're gone, I don't suppose he'll come. You
remember Miss Anderson's aunt, Miss Van Hook?"

"Oh yes," said Mrs. Pasmer.

"She was here with her."

"Miss Van Hook was such a New York type--of a certain kind," said Mrs.
Pasmer. She rose, with a smile at once so conventional, so heroic, and
so pitiful that Mrs. Brinkley felt the remorse of a generous victor.

She went to her room, hardening her heart, and she burst in with a flood
of voluble exasperation that threatened all the neighbouring rooms with
overflow.

"Well," she cried, "they have shown their hands completely. They have
come here to hound Dan Mavering down, and get him into their toils
again. Why, the woman actually said as much! But I fancy I have given
her a fit of insomnia that will enable her to share her daughter's
vigils. Really such impudence I never heard of!"

"Do you want everybody in the corridor to hear of it?" asked Brinkley,
from behind a newspaper.

"I know one thing," continued Mrs. Brinkley, dropping her voice a couple
of octaves. "They will never get him here if I can help it. He won't
come, anyway, now Miss Anderson is gone; but I'll make assurance doubly
sure by writing him not to come; I'll tell him they've gone; and than we
are going too."

"You had better remember the man in Chicago," said her husband.

"Well, this is my business--or I'll make it my business!" cried Mrs.
Brinkley. She went on talking rapidly, rising with great excitement in
her voice at times, and then remembering to speak lower; and her husband
apparently read on through most of her talk, though now and then he made
some comment that seemed of almost inspired aptness.

"The way they both made up to me was disgusting. But I know the girl is
just a tool in her mother's hands. Her mother seemed actually passive
in comparison. For skilful wheedling I could fall down and worship that
woman; I really admire her. As long as the girl was with us she kept
herself in the background and put the girl at me. It was simply a
masterpiece."

"How do you know she put her at you?" asked Brinkley.

"How? By the way she seemed not to do it! And because from what I know
of that stup