d maybe it will help
that I've never been called by it. They used to call me Pen or Penny--a
bad penny, I suppose you think."

"Your name," he said frigidly, "or at least the one Bender knows you
by--the one you went by in Chicago, is Marta Sills."

She made an articulate sound suggestive of dismay.

"That is one of my names," she admitted. "I had forgotten I gave that one
to Bender."

He made no comment.

"You said," she continued pleadingly, "that there was no excuse for me and
girls like me. Maybe you would find one if you knew what we are up
against. Every one knocks instead of boosts, and tells us how low-down we
are. Just as if a mirror were held up to an ugly-looking girl, and she
were asked how anyone who looked like that could expect to be different.
Suppose I should tell you I'd been to reformatories and places where I had
learned that I must play the stupid act as I did with Bender so as to be
kept from being sent up. There is no mercy for those who exhibit any
glimpses of intelligence, you see. This time I thought I was a goner for
life until you pried me loose. All doors seemed closed, but you opened the
window. No one was ever really kind to me before, except a Salvation Army
woman and--some one else."

"What was the name of that some one else?" he interrupted.

She hesitated, and for the first time seemed confused.

"Was it," he demanded, "_Jo Gary_?"

"Oh!" she gasped. Then quickly recovering, she continued: "You're quite a
detective for an acting one. If you were the real thing, you'd be a
regular Sherlock Holmes and make a clean sweep of crooks."

"Answer my question."

"It doesn't seem necessary to tell you anything; you know so much. I seem
to know that name. Was he at a dance in Chicago--let me see, Hurricane
Hall?" she asked serenely. "Is this his part of the country, and shall I
see him?"

"It _was_ his part of the country. You can _not_ see him."

A wistful note crept into her voice as she said:

"I should like to see him just once, but I suppose you won't tell me where
he is. I don't dare let on to you how grateful I really feel to you,
because I might lose my nerve and I've just got to hang on to that. It's
my only asset in trade. We have to use lots of bluff. Besides, someway you
make me feel contrary. Maybe I am the lightning and you the thunder."

"Why did you leave Chicago?" he asked abruptly. "Bender said that was
where you drifted from. I want the real reason--the absolu