d by the
disappearance of this flirtatious little fool who had tried to entrap
him. But she did not believe it. A glance at this brown-faced man was
sufficient evidence that he trod with dynamic force the way of the
strong. A look into his clear eyes was certificate enough of his
decency.

When Clay met Kitty at last it was quite by chance. As it happened
Beatrice was present at the time.

He had been giving a box party at the Empire. The gay little group was
gathered under the awning outside the foyer while the limousine that
was to take them to Shanley's for supper was being called. Colin
Whitford, looking out into the rain that pelted down, uttered an
exclamatory "By Jove!"

Clay turned to him inquiringly.

"A woman was looking out of that doorway at us," he said. "If she's
not in deep water I'm a bad guesser. I thought for a moment she knew
me or some one of us. She started to reach out her hands and then
shrank back."

"Young or old?" asked the cattleman.

"Young--a girl."

"Which door?"

"The third."

"Excuse me." The host was off in an instant, almost on the run.

But the woman had gone, swallowed in the semi-darkness of a side
street. Clay followed.

Beatrice turned to her father, eyebrows lifted. There was a moment's
awkward silence.

"Mr. Lindsay will be back presently," Whitford said. "We'll get in and
wait for him out of the way a little farther up the street."

When Clay rejoined them he was without his overcoat. He stood in the
heavy rain beside the car, a figure of supple grace even in his evening
clothes, and talked in a low voice with Beatrice's father. The mining
man nodded agreement and Lindsay turned to the others.

"I'm called away," he explained aloud. "Mr. Whitford has kindly
promised to play host in my place. I'm right sorry to leave, but it's
urgent."

His grave smile asked Beatrice to be charitable in her findings. The
eyes she gave him were coldly hostile. She, too, had caught a glimpse
of the haggard face in the shadows and she hardened her will against
him. The bottom of his heart went out as he turned away. He knew
Beatrice did not and would not understand.

The girl was waiting where Clay had left her, crouched against a
basement milliner's door under the shelter of the steps. She was
wearing the overcoat he had flung around her. In its pallid despair
her face was pitiable.

A waterproofed policeman glanced suspiciously at them as he sloshed