from saying anything about
it. Journalistically, how can I? It's the business of the 'Clarion' to
give the news. More than that: it's the honor of the 'Clarion.'"

"But what possible good will it do?"

"If it did no other good, it would warn other reckless drivers."

"Let the police look to that. It's their business."

"You know that the police dare do nothing to the daughter of Elias M.
Pierce. See here, Partner,"--Hal's tone grew gentle,--"don't you recall,
in that long talk we had about the paper, one afternoon, how you backed
me up when I told you what I meant to do in the way of making the
'Clarion' honest and clean and strong enough to be straight in its
attitude toward the public? Why, you've been the inspiration of all that
I've been trying to do. I thought that was the true Esme. Wasn't it? Was
I wrong? You're not going back on me, now?"

"But she's so young," pleaded Esme, shifting her ground before this
attack. "She doesn't think. She's never had to think. Your article makes
her look a--a murderess. It isn't fair. It isn't true, really. If you
could have seen her here, so frightened, so broken. She cried in my
arms. I told her it shouldn't be printed. I promised."

Here was the Great American Pumess at bay, and suddenly splendid in her
attitude of protectiveness. In that moment, she had all but broken Hal's
resolution. He rose and walked over to the window, to clear his thought
of the overpowering appeal of her loveliness.

"How can I--" he began, coming back: but paused because she was holding
out to him the proof. Across it, in pencil, was written, "Must not," and
the initials, E.S.M.E.

"Kill it," she urged softly.

"And my honesty with it."

"Oh, no. It can't be so fatal, to be kind for once. Let her off, poor
child."

Hal stood irresolute.

"If it were I?" she insisted softly.

"If it were you, would you ask it?"

"I shouldn't have to. I'd trust you."

The sweetness of it shook him. But he still spoke steadily.

"Others trust me, now. The men in the office. Trust me to be honest."

Again she felt the solid wall of character blocking her design, and
within herself raged and marveled, and more deeply, admired. Resentment
was uppermost, however. Find a way through that barrier she must and
would. Whatever scruples may have been aroused by his appeal to her she
banished. No integer of the impressionable sex had ever yet won from her
such a battle. None ever should: and assuredly not thi