he State; and I was
naturally--er--well, I was thinking about you, as I say."

I saw that I was completely in her power. She knew, better than anyone
else on earth, save and excepting only her father, that I was an
innocent man. But she also knew that I had broken my parole.

"What do you want of me, Agatha?" I asked; and I had to wet my lips
before I could say it.

"Supposing we say that I am asking only a little, common, ordinary
friendliness, Bertie--just for the sake of the old days, and to show
that you don't bear malice. I'm like other women; I get horribly bored
and lonesome sometimes for somebody to talk to--somebody who knows, and
for whom I don't have to wear a mask. The other girl doesn't live
here, does she?"

"No."

"That's better. When you come to Denver, you must let me see you now
and then; just for old sake's sake. You come up quite often, don't
you? But I know you do; I see your name in the arrivals quite
frequently."

I formed a swift resolve not to come as often in the future as I had in
the past, but I did not tell her so.

"You'll come to see me when you're in town," she went on. "I'll try to
learn to call you 'Jimmie,' and when we meet people, I'll promise to
introduce you as the Mr. Bertrand, of Cripple Creek and the Little
Clean-Up. Does that make you feel better?"

It made me feel as if I should like to lock my fingers around her fair
pillar-like throat. I have said that I did not hate her. But one may
kill without hatred in self-defense. Short of cold-blooded murder,
however, there was nothing I could do--nothing anyone could do. Beyond
this, she went on chatting easily and lightly of the old times in
Glendale and the people we had both known, rallying me now and then
upon my unresponsiveness. At my leave-taking, which was a full hour
later, she went with me to the hall, helped me into my overcoat, and
gave me another of the breath-taking shocks.

"There was a time, once, when you really thought you were in love with
me, wasn't there, Bertie?" she asked sweetly.

Again I told her the simple truth. "There was a time; yes. It was
when I was still young enough to carry your books back and forth on the
way to and from the old school."

"But you got bravely over it, after awhile?"

"Yes; I got over it after I grew up."

She laughed softly.

"Don't you know that is a frightfully dangerous thing to say to a
woman--to any woman, Bertie?"

"It is the honest thing to