cold perfection, and when she was ushered into the anxiously awaiting presence of Marcus Gard, she was the same perfectly poised machine, wound up to execute a certain series of acts, that she had been on the occasion of her former visit.  Of their friendly acquaintance of the last ten days there was no trace.  They were two men of business met to consult upon a matter of money.  The host was thoroughly disappointed.  For ten days he had lost no opportunity of following up both Dorothy and her mother.  Dorothy had responded with frank-hearted liking; Mrs. Marteen had suffered herself to be interested.

“How’s my debutante?” he asked cordially, as Mrs. Marteen entered.

“She’s very well, thank you,” the marble personage replied.  “I came in answer to your note.”

“Rather late,” he complained.  “I’ve been waiting for you anxiously, most anxiously—­but now you’re here, I’m ready to forgive.  Do you know, this is the first opportunity I have had, since you honored me before, of having one word in private with you?”

She ignored his remark.  “I have brought the correspondence of which I spoke.”

“I never doubted it, my dear lady.  But before we proceed to conclude this little deal I want to ask you a question or two.  Surely you will not let me languish of curiosity.  I want to know—­tell me—­how did you ever hit upon this plan of yours?”

She unbent from her rigid attitude and answered, almost as if the words were drawn from her against her will:  “After Martin, my husband died—­I—­I found myself poor, quite to my astonishment, and with Dorothy to support.  Among his effects—­” She paused and turned scarlet; she was angry at herself for answering, angry at him for daring to question her thus intimately.

“You found—­” prompted Gard.

“Well—­” she hesitated, and then continued boldly—­“some letters from—­never mind whom.  They showed me that my husband had been most cruelly robbed and mistreated; men had traded upon his honor, and had ruined him.  Then and there I saw my way.  This man—­these men—­had political aspirations.  Their plans were maturing.  I waited.  Then I ‘wondered if they would care to have the matter in their opponents’ hands.’  The swindle would be good newspaper matter.  They replied that they would ‘mind very much.’  I succeeded in getting back something of what Martin had been cheated out of—­”

He beamed approval.  “And mighty clever and plucky of you.  And then?”

This time the delayed explosion of her anger came.  “How dare you question me?  How dare you pry into my life?”

“You dared to pry into mine, remember,” he snapped.

“For a definite and established purpose,” she retorted; “and let us proceed, if you will.”

Gard shifted his bulk and grasped the arms of his chair.

“As you please.  You deposited with me the sum of twenty-five thousand dollars.  I personally took charge of that account, and invested it for you.  The steps of these transactions I will ask you to follow.”