forehead
delicately wrinkled, her blue eyes filled with alluring light.

"Mr. Tavernake," she murmured, "do you know that you are not in the
least kind to me? Beatrice and I are sisters, after all. Even she has
admitted that. She left me most unkindly at a critical time in my
life; she misunderstood things; if I were to see her, I could explain
everything. I feel it very much that she is living apart from me in this
city where we are both strangers. I am anxious about her, Mr. Tavernake.
Does she want money? If so, will you take her some from me? Can't you
suggest any way in which I could help her? Do be my friend, please, and
advise me."

Life was certainly opening out for Tavernake. The atmosphere by which he
was surrounded, which she was deliberately creating around him, was the
atmosphere of an unknown world. It was a position, this, entirely novel
to him. Nevertheless, he did his best to cope with it intelligently. He
reflected carefully before he made any reply, he refused absolutely to
listen to the strange voices singing in his ears, and he delivered his
decision with his usual air of finality.

"I am afraid," he said, "that since Beatrice refuses even to let you
know her whereabouts, she would not wish to accept anything from you.
It seems a pity," he went on, the instincts of the money-saver stirring
within him; "she is certainly none too well off."

The lady on the couch sighed.

"Beatrice has at least a friend," she murmured. "It is a great deal
to have a friend. It is more than I have. We are both so far from home
here. Often I am sorry that we ever left America. England is not a
hospitable country, Mr. Tavernake."

Again this painfully literal young man spoke out what was in his mind.

"There was a gentleman in the motor-car with you the other night," he
reminded her.

She bit her lip.

"He was just an acquaintance," she answered, "a man whom I used to know
in New York, passing through London. He called on me and asked me to go
to the theatre and supper. Why not? I have had a terrible time during
the last few months, Mr. Tavernake, and I am very lonely--lonelier than
ever since my sister deserted me."

Tavernake began to feel, ridiculous though it seemed, that in some
subtle and inexplicable fashion he was in danger. At any rate, he was
hopelessly bewildered. He did not understand why this very beautiful
lady should look at him as though they were old friends, why her eyes
should appeal to hi