omeone was running back to overtake her. Recognizing
escape to be impossible, Rita turned just as the runner came up with
her.

"Rita!" he cried, rather breathlessly. "Miss Dresden!"

She stood very still, looking at the speaker.

It was Monte Irvin.

CHAPTER XV. METAMORPHOSIS

As Irvin seized her hands and looked at her eagerly, half-fearfully,
Rita achieved sufficient composure to speak.

"Oh, Mr. Irvin," she said, and found that her voice was not entirely
normal, "what must you think--"

He continued to hold her hands, and:

"I think you are very indiscreet to be out alone at three o'clock in
the morning," he answered gently. "I was recalled to London by urgent
business, and returned by road--fortunately, since I have met you."

"How can I explain--"

"I don't ask you to explain--Miss Dresden. I have no right and no desire
to ask. But I wish I had the right to advise you."

"How good you are," she began, "and I--"

Her voice failed her completely, and her sensitive lips began to
tremble. Monte Irvin drew her arm under his own and led her back to meet
the car, which the chauffeur had turned and which was now approaching.

"I will drive you home," he said, "and if I may call in the morning. I
should like to do so."

Rita nodded. She could not trust herself to speak again. And having
placed her in the car, Monte Irvin sat beside her, reclaiming her hand
and grasping it reassuringly and sympathetically throughout the short
drive. They parted at her door.

"Good night," said Irvin, speaking very deliberately because of an
almost uncontrollable desire which possessed him to take Rita in his
arms, to hold her fast, to protect her from her own pathetic self and
from those influences, dimly perceived about her, but which intuitively
he knew to be evil.

"If I call at eleven will that be too early?"

"No," she whispered. "Please come early. There is a matinee tomorrow."

"You mean today," he corrected. "Poor little girl, how tired you will
be. Good night."

"Good night," she said, almost inaudibly.

She entered, and, having closed the door, stood leaning against it for
several minutes. Bleakness and nausea threatened to overcome her anew,
and she felt that if she essayed another step she must collapse upon
the floor. Her maid was in bed, and had not been awakened by Rita's
entrance. After a time she managed to grope her way to her bedroom,
where, turning up the light, she sank down helplessly upon