You look quite used up--not well
at all."

Pride raised a red flag in her cheek. She lifted a great muff to her
lips, and gave a little laugh.

"Thank you. I am quite well."

Continuing to gaze at her, he went ahead with customary directness:
"Then I am afraid you have been taking--the reformatory too hard."

"No, not the reformatory. It is something worse than that. I had a
friend once," said Sharlee, muff to her lips, and her level eyes, upon
him, "and he was not worthy."

To follow out that thought was impossible, but Queed felt very sorry for
West when he saw how she said it.

"I'm sorry that you should have had this--to distress you. However--"

"Isn't it rather late to think of that now? As to saying it--I should
have thought that you would tell me of your sorrow immediately--or not
at all."

A long look passed between them. Down the corridor, on both sides of
them, flowed a stream of people bent upon mails; but these two were
alone in the world.

"Have you seen West?" asked Queed, in a voice unlike his own.

She made a little movement of irrepressible distaste.

"Yes.... But you must not think that he told me. He is too kind, too
honorable to betray his friend."

He stared at her, reft of the power of speech.

From under the wide hat, the blue eyes seemed to leap out and stab him;
they lingered, turning the knife, while their owner appeared to be
waiting for him to speak; and then with a final twist, they were pulled
away, and Queed found himself alone in the corridor.

He dropped his long envelope in the slot labeled _North_, and turned his
footsteps toward Duke of Gloucester Street again.

Within him understanding had broken painfully into flame. Miss Weyland
believed that he was the author of the unforgivable editorial--_he_, who
had so gladly given, first the best abilities he had, and then his
position itself, to the cause of Eva Bernheimer. West had seen her, and
either through deliberate falseness or his characteristic fondness for
shying off from disagreeable subjects--Queed felt pretty sure it was the
latter--had failed to reveal the truth. West's motives did not matter in
the least. The terrible situation in which he himself had been placed
was all that mattered, and that he must straighten out at once. What
dumbness had seized his tongue just now he could not imagine. But it was
plain that, however much he would have preferred not to see the girl at
all, this meeting had made another