She doesn't seem that
sort. Forget her. You can't do anything. I've tried and failed."

"I may fail, but I haven't tried. You dispose of her as if she
didn't count."

"What can I do? I shouldn't have mentioned her." Selwyn's forehead
ridged frowningly, and, taking out his watch, he looked at it, took
up his hat and coat, and held out his hand.

"Thank you for letting me talk to you. And don't worry about the
other girl. You can't do anything."

"Perhaps I can't, but you said just now one of the many things you
couldn't understand in women was their disregard of other women.
That Mildred would probably give the girl no thought. The rich girl,
you meant."

"Well--" Selwyn waited. "I did say it, but I don't see what you're
getting at."

"That sometimes women do remember the woman who has to pay--the
price; do give a thought to the girl who is left to pay it alone.
Come to-morrow--no, not to-morrow. Come next week. It will take
Mrs. Mundy until then to--"

"Mrs. Mundy has nothing to do with Miss Swink. The other girl, I
told you, can take care of herself. You mustn't look into that side
of it. I'll attend to that, do what is necessary. It's only about
her you seem to be thinking."

"I'm thinking about both girls, the poor one and the rich one. But
the rich girl has a million-dollar mother to look after her.
Good-by, and come Tuesday. I forgot--What is the girl's name, the
little cashier-girl's?"

"Etta--Etta something." Selwyn made effort to think, then took a
note-book out of his pocket and looked at it. "Etta Blake is her
name. I wish you'd forget her. There are some things one can't talk
about, but certainly you know I will do what is right if Harrie--"
His face darkened.

"I know you will, but sometimes a girl needs a woman to do--what is
right. She's such a little thing, and so young. Come Tuesday
evening at eight o'clock."

CHAPTER XVII

Late that evening I had a talk with Mrs. Mundy. I told her where Etta
Blake lived, that is, where she could find the house from which I had
seen her come with the baby in her arms, the house whose address had
been given me by Selwyn, and the next morning she was to go and see
her; but the next morning Mrs. Mundy was ill. Acute indigestion was
what the doctor called it, but to Bettina and me it seemed a much more
dreadful thing, and for the time all thought of other matters was put
aside and held in abeyance.

With Bettina's help I t