“What a mistake I made, Jack!” she cried, and stretched out her hands toward him.

He fell back a step.

“Nonsense!” he said.  He glanced sharply at her.

“How stupid you are!” she exclaimed.

She half rose from her chair with her hands still extended toward him.  For a moment he met her glance, and then, disgusted and ashamed, withdrew his eyes from hers.

Evelyn sank back in her chair, and her face turned white and she covered it with her hands.  North was the first to break the silence.

“We would both of us better forget this,” he said quietly.

She rose and stood at his side.  The color had returned to her cheeks.

“What a fool you are, John North!” she jeered softly.  “And I might have made the tragic mistake of really caring for you!” She gave a little shiver of dismay, and then after a moment’s tense silence:  “What a boy you are,—­almost as much of a boy as when we used to play together.”

“I think there is nothing more to say, Evelyn,” North said shortly.  “It is growing late.  You must not be seen leaving here!”

She laughed.

“Oh, it would take a great deal to compromise me; though if Marsh ever finds out that I have been here he’ll be ready to kill me!” But she still lingered, still seemed to invite.

North was silent.

“You must be in love, Jack!  You see, I’ll not grant that you are the saint you’d have me think you!  Yes, you are in love!” for he colored angrily at her words.  “Is it—­”

He interrupted her harshly.

“Don’t speak her name!”

“Then it is true!  I’d heard that you were, but I did not believe it!  Yes, you are right, we must forget that I came here to-day.”

While she was speaking she had moved toward the door, and instinctively he had stepped past her to open it.  When he turned with his hand on the knob, it brought them again face to face.  The smile had left her lips, they were mere delicate lines of color.  She raised herself on tiptoe and her face, gray-white, was very close to his.

“What a fool you are, Jack, what a coward you must be!” and she struck him on the cheek with her gloved hand.  “You are a coward!” she cried.

His face grew as white as her own, and he did not trust himself to speak.  She gave him a last contemptuous glance and drew her veil.

“Now open the door,” she said insolently.

He did so, and she brushed past him swiftly and stepped out into the long hall.  For a moment North stood staring after her, and then he closed the door.

CHAPTER THREE

STRANGE BEDFELLOWS

When North quitted Marshall Langham’s office, Gilmore, after a brief instant of irresolution, stepped into the room.  He was crudely, handsome, a powerfully-built man of about Langham’s own age, swarthy-faced and with ruthless lips showing red under a black waxed mustache.  His hat was inclined at a “sporty” angle and the cigar which he held firmly between his strong even teeth was tilted in the same direction, imparting a rakish touch to Mr. Gilmore’s otherwise sturdy and aggressive presence.