There was an emphatic silence, and then Lilian Rosenberg spoke.

“Have I ever heard you mention her?”

“Occasionally,” Shiel replied.

There was silence again.  Then Lilian Rosenberg said slowly—­

“You surely don’t mean Gladys Martin!  I can think of no one else.”

“I do mean her!” Shiel replied, dropping his eyes.  “She is to be coerced into marrying Hamar.”

“The silly fool!” Lilian Rosenberg said.  “I would like to see any one trying to coerce me.  And it is to serve her you want me to sacrifice myself.”  And she turned away in disgust.

After this interview, Lilian studiously avoided Shiel; and despairing, at length, of ever winning her over, Shiel reported his failure to H.V.  Sevenning.

“We must subpoena her,” said Sevenning.

“You’ll never get her to speak that way,” Shiel said.  “If once she has made up her mind not to do a thing, nothing will ever compel her.”

“I have heard that said of people before,” H.V.  Sevenning replied dryly, “but it’s wonderful what the witness-box can do; it loosens the most mulish tongues in a marvellous manner.”

“It wouldn’t hers,” Shiel maintained.

H.V.  Sevenning, however, thought he knew best—­what lawyer doesn’t?  Moreover, it was all part of the game—­the great game of becoming notorious at all costs.  He served the subpoena.

Like most modern girls, Lilian Rosenberg was wholly selfish; and for this fault only her parents were to blame.  She had been brought up with the one idea of pleasing herself, of saying and doing exactly what she thought fit; and no one had ever thwarted her.  Now, however, the unforeseen had happened.  She was smitten with the grand passion, and confronted for the first time in her life with the startling proposition of “self-sacrifice.”  She loved Shiel.  She wouldn’t marry him for the very simple reason he had no money—­but that only added poignancy to the situation.  She loved him all the more.  She knew Shiel loved Gladys Martin.  Whether he could ever marry Gladys was another matter—­but he loved her all the same.  And the proposition, that had been so abruptly thrust upon Lilian Rosenberg, was that she should sacrifice herself, not only to save Gladys Martin from marrying Hamar, but to pave the way for Shiel, supposing Gladys could reconcile herself to penury, to marry her himself.  In other words she had been called upon to give up what was, at the moment, dearest to her in the world, and to court all the inconveniences and worries of being thrown out of employment—­for if she gave evidence that would in any way tend to damage the firm of Hamar, Curtis & Kelson, she would undoubtedly lose her post and, in all probability, never get another—­at least not another as good—­for the sake of a woman whom she did not know, but, nevertheless, hated.

Yet there was in her, as there is in almost every girl, however up to date, a chord that responded to the heroic.  A short time back she would have scoffed at the very thought of self-sacrifice; but now, she actually caught herself considering it.  She kept on considering it, too, until the trial was well advanced, and had practically made up her mind to denounce the trio and go to the wall herself, when the subpoena was served.