er.

"The really amusing thing about you is that you don't at all know how
little brains you have," was the polite broadside delivered him as
Violet began to sip the clear coffee from her cup.

"Same to you," was the reply she received. Godfrey spoke in a
good-natured tone of voice. "Now, what did you come to town to talk
about--'The Purple Slipper'?"

"Why did you leave Highcliff like a thief in the night?"

"Did you read the deeds Dolph gave you when he went up to pack my
personal effects?"

"Yes, thanks! I suppose you consider Highcliff the price of your
freedom?"

"And cheap at that."

"Then why not turn me over to Weiner?" Violet asked in a dangerous tone
of voice that made Mr. Vandeford glance around with apprehension to see
who would witness the explosion if it occurred.

"I tried to buy Denny off yesterday, but you fastened 'The Purple
Slipper' firmly in his head, maybe his heart, the other evening, and it
would be like taking candy from a child. Maybe you can--can influence
him to let go--if I give you the chance." There was something coolly
insulting in his voice that told Violet he had surmised her intentions
and the failure of her assault on his big Jonathan.

"Your usual impertinence! I'll get him yet, just to spite you. I'll go
in and play that 'Purple Slipper' to win, and--"

"Again Miss Adair breaks in on enthusiasm for her play." Dennis
Farraday's big voice boomed right at the elbows of the embattled pair.
"Look who's here, Van!"

Mr. Godfrey Vandeford looked up quickly, and as quickly rose to his
feet. And with one glance into slate-gray eyes behind long black
lashes--eyes filled with awed, worshipful gratitude to him--his heart
rose in his breast and all but flitted out upon his sleeve.

"Miss Adair, Mr. Vandeford, the producer of your play," good Dennis
flourished. "And Miss Violet Hawtry! In fact, the whole happy family!"

CHAPTER III

Now, by all rules of the game, it was the prerogative of Miss Violet
Hawtry to take charge of a situation in which the star of a play meets
the author; but she missed her cue, and the gutter instinct within her
sat dumb and dumfounded before the lady from Adairville.

"I'm charmed to meet you, Miss Hawtry," Miss Adair assured her, with a
glance of such admiration and friendliness that even Violet's
narrow-gage soul expanded into a variety of graciousness all its own,
and she smiled back into the eyes of the young author with a radiance
that