confess my good actions?"

"At what hour does the victim's dying shriek rend the quivering air?"

"Mr. Surtaine is due here at half past eight."

"Humph! Young Surtaine, eh? Shy bird, if it has taken all this time to
bring him down. Well, run and dress. It's after five and that gives you
less than three hours for prinking up, counting dinner in."

Whatever time and effort may have gone to the making of the Great
American Pumess's toilet, Hal thought, as he came down the long room to
where she stood embowered in pink, that he had never beheld anything so
freshly lovely. She gave him a warm and yielding hand in welcome, and
drew away a bit, surveying him up and down with friendly eyes.

"You're looking unusually smart to-night," she approved. "London clothes
don't set so well on many Americans. But your tie is askew. Wait. Let me
do it."

With deft fingers she twitched and patted the bow into submission. The
touch of intimacy represented the key in which she had chosen to pitch
her play. Sinking back into a cushioned corner of the settee, she curled
up cozily, and motioned him to a chair.

"Draw it around," she directed. "I want you where you can't get away,
for I'm going to cast a spell over you."

"_Going_ to?" The accent on the first word was stronger than the reply
necessitated.

"Do many people ask favors of an editor?"

"More than enough."

"And is the editor often kind and obliging?"

"That depends on the favor."

"Not a little bit on the asker?"

"Naturally, that, too."

"Your tone isn't very encouraging." She searched his face with her
limpid, lingering regard. "Did you bring the proofs?"

"Yes."

Still holding his eyes to hers, she stretched out her hand to receive
the strip of print, "Do you think I'd better read it?"

"No."

"Then I will."

Studying her face, as she read, Hal saw it change from gay to grave, saw
her quiver and wince with a swiftly indrawn breath, and straightened his
spine to what he knew was coming.

"Oh, it's cruel," she said in a low tone, letting the paper fall on her
knee.

"It's true," said Hal.

"Oh, no! Even if it were, it ought not to be published."

"Why?"

"Because--" The girl hesitated.

"Because she's one of us?"

"No. Yes. It has something to do with my feeling, I suppose. Why, you've
been a guest at her house."

"Suppose I have. The 'Clarion' hasn't."

"Isn't that rather a fine distinction?"

"On the contrary. Personally, I might refrain