ow.

"Oh, she's all right," he said easily. "Just an innocent kid writer for
_Scribbler's_ who's trying to make good writing about the beautiful
scenery around here. I was a bit suspicious of her at first myself, but
picked her up this morning an' we had quite a talk. Mighty pretty little
girl."

Miss La Rue elevated her eyebrows, watchfully regarding him through smoke
wreaths.

"Oh, cut it, Ned," she exclaimed curtly. "We all know you are a perfect
devil with the women. The poor thing is in love with you, no doubt, but
that doesn't answer my question, who is she?"

"Her name is Donovan."

"That sounds promising; what do you make it, shanty Irish?"

"I should say not," warmly. "She's a lady, all right. Oh, I know 'em,
if I don't meet many of that kind. We got chummy enough, so she told me
all about herself--her father's a big contractor and has money to burn."

"Did you ever hear the beat of that, Enright? Neddy is about to feather
his nest. Well, go on."

"That's about all, I guess, only she ain't nothin' you need be afraid of."

"Sure not, with a watch-dog like you on guard. But if you ask me, I
don't like the idea of her happening in here just at this time. This is
no place for an innocent child," and she looked about, her lip curling.
"Lord, I should say not. Do you happen to remember any New York
contractor by that name, Mr. Enright?"

The rotund lawyer, his feet elevated on the window-sill, a cigar between
his lips, shook his head in emphatic dissent.

"Not lately; there was a Tim Donovan who had a pull in the subway
excavation--he was a Tammany man--but he died, and was never married.
There may have been others, of course, but I had tab on most of them.
Did she mention his name, Beaton?"

"No; anyhow, I don't remember."

"What's the girl look like?"

"Rather slender, with brown hair, sorter coppery in the sun, and grey
eyes that grow dark when she's interested. About twenty-three or four, I
should say. She's a good-looker, all right; and not a bit stuck up."

"Did you get her full name?"

"Sure; it's on the register--Stella Donovan."

Enright lowered his feet to the floor, a puzzled look un his face, his
teeth clinched on his cigar.

"Hold on a bit till I think." he muttered. "That sounds mighty
familiar--Stella Donovan! My God, I've heard that name before somewhere;
ah, I have it--she's on the New York _Star_. I've seen her name signed
to articles in the Sunday edition."