oves a man she ought to be willing to
trust him over a dreadful bungle until he could straighten things out
and make good again--that's true, isn't it?"

"Billy Burgeman! What do you mean?"

"Just answer my question. If a girl loves a man she'll trust him,
won't she?"

"I suppose so."

"You know she would, dear. What would the man do if she didn't?"

The voice sounded strained and unnatural in its intensity and appeal.
Patsy rose, troubled in mind, and tiptoed to the only other door in
the den.

"'Tis a grand situation for a play," she remarked, dryly, "but 'tis
a mortial poor one in real life, and I'm best out of it." She turned
the knob with eager fingers and pulled the door toward her. It opened
on a dumbwaiter shaft, empty and impressive. Patsy's expression would
have scored a hit in farce comedy. Unfortunately there was no
audience present to appreciate it here, and the prompter forgot to
ring down the curtain just then, so that Patsy stood helpless, forced
to go on hearing all that Marjorie and her leading man wished to
improvise in the way of lines.

"... I told you, _forged_--"

Patsy was tempted to put her fingers in her ears to shut out the
sound of his voice and what he was saying, but she knew even then she
would go on hearing; his voice was too vibrant, too insistent, to be
shut out.

"... my father's name for ten thousand. I took the check to the bank
myself, and cashed it; father's vice-president.... Of course the
cashier knew me.... I tell you I can't explain--not now. I've got to
get away and stay away until I've squared the thing and paid father
back."

"Billy Burgeman, did you forge that check yourself?"

"What does that matter--whether I forged it or had it forged or saw
it forged? I tell you I cashed it, knowing it was forged. Don't you
understand?"

"Yes; but if you didn't forge it, you could easily prove it; people
wouldn't have to know the rest--they are hushing up things of that
kind every day."

A silence dropped on the three like a choking, blinding fog. The two
outside the hangings must have been staring at each other, too
bewildered or shocked to speak. The one inside clutched her throat,
muttering, "If my heart keeps up this thumping, faith, he'll think
it's the police and run."

At last the voice of the man came, hushed but strained almost to
breaking. To Patsy it sounded as if he were staking his very soul in
the words, uncertain of the balance. "Marjorie, you don't u