lure. Perhaps he
ought not to have told Gila, after all. She simply couldn't understand
the other girl because she had never dreamed of such a situation.

If he could have seen his gentle Gila a couple of hours later, standing
before her mirror again and setting those little sharp teeth into her
red lip, the ugly frown between her angry eyes; if he could have heard
her low-muttered words, and, worse still, guessed her thoughts about
himself and that other girl--he certainly would have gone out and
gnashed his teeth in despair. If he could have known what was to come
of his request to Gila Dare he would have rung up the hospital and had
Miss Brentwood moved to another one in hot haste, or, better still, have
taken strenuous measures to prevent that visit. But instead of that he
read Mother Marshall's telegram over again, and lay down to forget Gila
Dare utterly, and think pleasant thoughts about the Marshalls.

CHAPTER XII

Gila Dare, in her very most startling costume, lavishly plastered with
costly fur, and high-laced, French-heeled boots, came tripping down her
father's steps to the limousine. She carried a dangling little trick of
a hand-bag and a muff big enough for a rug. Her two eyes looked forth
from the rim of the low-squashed, bandage-like fur hat like the eyes of
a small, sly mouse that was about to nibble somebody else's cheese.

By her side a logy youth, with small, blue fish-eyes fixed adoringly on
her, sauntered protectingly. She wore a large bunch of pale-yellow
orchids, evidently his gift, and was paying for them with her glances.
One knew by the excited flush on the young man's face that he had rarely
been paid so well. His eyes took on a glint of intelligence, one might
almost say of hope, and he smiled egregiously, egotistically. His
assurance grew with each step he took. As he opened the door of the
luxurious car for her he wore an attitude of one who might possibly be a
fiance. Her little mouse-eyes--you wouldn't have dreamed they could ever
be large and wistful, nor innocent, either--twinkled pleasurably. She
was playing her usual game and playing it well. It was the game for
which she was rapidly becoming notorious, young as she was.

"Oh, now, _Chaw_-! _Ree_-ally! Why, I never dreamed it was that bad! But
you mustn't, you know! I never gave you permission!"

The chauffeur, sitting stolidly in his uniform, awaiting the word to
move, wondered idly what she was up to now. He was used to