“No,” she said.  “Once I would have put my hand in the fire for you; but when you left me in that dance house I knew all there was to know of you,—­and I hoped you might never come in my way again.  Shamed as I am, I could not fall so low as you did then.”

“I don’t know that I’m very proud of the part I played,” and though Courthorne smiled there was a faint flush in his face.  “Still, you see, I hadn’t a dollar then, and what could I do?  Any way, that’s done with, and I was wondering if you would let me congratulate you.  Potter seems to be a general favorite.”

He saw the apprehension once more creep into the girl’s eyes and noticed the little tremor in her voice as she said, “You have heard of it?  Of course, you would.  What do you mean to do?”

“Nothing,” and Courthorne smiled reassuringly.  “Why should I do anything?  After all, I owe you a little reparation.  Silence is easy and in our case, I think, advisable.  Presumably you are as fond of the worthy Potter as you were of me, and there is no doubt that he is considerably more deserving of affection.”

His good-humored acquiescence was in one respect almost brutal, and the girl winced under it, in spite of her evident relief.

“Lance,” she said, with a curious forceful gravity, “Frank Potter is such a man as you could never be.  There can’t be many like him.  As I said, there was a time when I would have slaved for you and starved with you cheerfully; but you threw me off,—­and, now this man who is big and strong enough to forget what you brought me to has given me a chance to wipe out the past, I do not think I need be afraid of you.  At first I was a little so, but it wasn’t altogether for myself.  I want to warn you.  If you try to make mischief he will kill you.”

“Ah,” said Courthorne quietly.  “Well, it wouldn’t be very astonishing if he attempted it, and nobody would blame him; but I have, as it happens, no intention of provoking him.  After all, it was my fault, and you were too good for me, Ailly.”

He stopped a moment and smiled, for there was in him a certain half-whimsical cruelty.  “Still, perhaps, it’s a little rough on the excellent Potter, though from what you said one would think that you had told him—­something.”

The crimson crept into the girl’s cheek.  “He knows everything—­except who you are.  That is why I am afraid.  If he found out, I think one of you would never leave this place.”

Courthorne shrugged his shoulders.  “I believe I owe you enough to go away to-morrow.  It would be wiser.  I am not, as you know, a model of discretion, and it’s, perhaps, natural that, now you have given me up, you appear rather more attractive than ever.  In fact, I almost feel tempted to stay to see if I’m not a match for Potter.  Still, I’ll go away.  I suppose you haven’t heard from Larry lately?”

He saw the returning fear in her face give place to pain and bitterness as he concluded, and he made a little sign of comprehension.