The
twelve-to-one intermission gave her opportunity to hurry up the street
and buy a _Gazette_. Then, instead of going home to her luncheon, she
entered the nearest restaurant. She wanted a chance to read, more than
food. She did not unfold the paper until she was seated.

A column heading on the front page caught her eye. The caption ran:
"Andrew Bush Leaves Money to Stenographer." And under it the subhead:
"Wealthy Manufacturer Makes Peculiar Bequest to Miss Hazel Weir."

The story ran a full column, and had to do with the contents of the
will, made public following his interment. There was a great deal of
matter anent the principal beneficiaries. But that which formed the
basis of the heading was a codicil appended to the will a few hours
before his death, in which he did "give and bequeath to Hazel Weir,
until lately in my employ, the sum of five thousand dollars in
reparation for any wrong I may have done her."

The _Gazette_ had copied that portion verbatim, and used it as a peg
upon which to hang some adroitly worded speculation as to what manner
of wrong Mr. Andrew Bush could have done Miss Hazel Weir. Mr. Bush was
a widower of ten years' standing. He had no children. There was
plenty of room in his life for romance. And wealthy business men who
wrong pretty stenographers are not such an unfamiliar type. The
_Gazette_ inclined to the yellow side of journalism, and it overlooked
nothing that promised a sensation.

Hazel stared at the sheet, and her face burned. She could understand
now why Jack Barrow had hung up his receiver with a slam. She could
picture him reading that suggestive article and gritting his teeth.
Her hands clenched till the knuckles stood white under the smooth skin,
and then quite abruptly she got up and left the restaurant even while a
waiter hurried to take her order. If she had been a man, and versed in
profanity, she could have cursed Andrew Bush till his soul shuddered on
its journey through infinite space. Being a woman, she wished only a
quiet place to cry.

CHAPTER IV

AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED

Hazel's pride came to her rescue before she was half-way home.
Instinctively she had turned to that refuge, where she could lock
herself in her own room and cry her protest against it all. But she
had done no wrong, nothing of which to be ashamed, and when the first
shock of the news article wore off, she threw up her head and refused
to consider what the world at