sed the
door behind him.

"Keep away from me," she said, pushing him back sharply, the next
instant. "I've had enough of that for a while I believe."

He sank into a chair, affecting desolation. "Caresses blighted in
the bud! Cora, one would think us really married."

She walked across the floor to a window, turned there, with her
back to the light, and stood facing him, her arms folded.

"Good heavens!" he exclaimed, noting this attitude. "Is it the
trial scene from a faded melodrama?" She looked steadily at him
without replying. "What's it all about to-day?" he asked lightly.
"I'll try to give you the proper cues if you'll indicate the
general nature of the scene, Cora mine."

She continued to look at him in silence.

"It's very effective," he observed. "Brings out the figure, too.
Do forgive me if you're serious, dear lady, but never in my life
was I able to take the folded-arms business seriously. It was used
on the stage of all countries so much that I believe most
new-school actors have dropped it. They think it lacks
genuineness."

Cora waited a moment longer, then spoke. "How much chance have I
to get Richard Lindley's money back from you?"

He was astounded. "Oh, I say!"

"I had a caller, this morning," she said, slowly. "He talked about
you--quite a lot! He's told me several things about you."

"Mr. Vilas?" he asked, with a sting in his quick smile.

"No," she answered coolly. "Much older."

At that he jumped up, stepped quickly close to her, and swept her
with an intense and brilliant scrutiny.

"Pryor, by God!" he cried.

"He knows you pretty well," she said. "So do I now!"

He swung away from her, back to his chair, dropped into it and
began to laugh. "Old Pryor! Doddering old Pryor! Doddering old ass
of a Pryor! So he did! Blood of an angel! what a stew, what a
stew!" He rose again, mirthless. "Well, what did he say?"

She had begun to tremble, not with fear. "He said a good deal."

"Well, what was it? What did he tell you?"

"I think you'll find it plenty!"

"Come on!"

"_You_!" She pointed at him.

"Let's have it."

"He told me"--she burst out furiously--"he said you were a
professional sharper!"

"Oh, no. Old Pryor doesn't talk like that."

She came toward him. "He told me you were notorious over half of
Europe," she cried vehemently. "He said he'd arrested you himself,
once, in Rotterdam, for smuggling jewels, and that you were
guilty, but managed to squirm out of it.