intimate chat.

"How old is he?" he demanded.

"Thirty." Instantly she added: "You are forty-five."

"No," he corrected dryly; "forty-six."

Laura laughed. She saw that his good-humor had returned. At least there
was no immediate danger of his doing anything desperate. The nervous
tension was over for the time being. Rising and going near to him, she
asked archly:

"Shall I tell you about him, eh?"

The broker looked serious.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Yourself."

"In what way?" she demanded.

He hesitated and looked at her for a moment in silence before he
replied:

"If it will interfere with the plans I have made for you and myself."

The girl turned her head. Coldly, she said:

"Have you made any particular plans for me that have anything
particularly to do with you?"

Lighting another cigar, he said with assumed nonchalance:

"Why, yes. I have given up the lease of your apartment on West End
Avenue and bought a house on Riverside Drive. I thought you would like
it better. Everything will be quiet and nice. It'll be more comfortable
for you. There's a stable nearby. Your horses and car can be kept
there. I'm going to put the house in your name. That way you'll be your
own mistress. Besides, I've fixed you up for a new part."

[Illustration: "I'VE BOUGHT A HOUSE FOR YOU ON RIVERSIDE DRIVE."
_Page 86._]

CHAPTER VI.

Laura gasped, and opened wide her eyes. A house of her own on Riverside
Drive! She had always wished for that; it had been the dream of her
life. Why--it meant that independence, wealth were already hers! She
need have no more gnawing anxiety about the future. The price? Well,
had she not paid it already? Perhaps she had been foolish. The world is
hard--one never gets the credit for trying to be decent. Who would
care? Yes--one would. She saw a pair of honest gray eyes seeking hers
and questioning her, demanding if she had been true to their
oath--"until death!"

"A new part!" she faltered. "What kind of a part?"

A covert smile played about the broker's lips. He had noted her
hesitation, and well he knew the weight of his words. He had not
studied women all these years for nothing. Carelessly he went on:

"One of Charlie Burgess's shows, translated from some French fellow.
It's been running over in Paris, Berlin, Vienna, and all those places
for a year or more, and appears to be a tremendous hit. It's a big