“And you needn’t say, ‘Was it?’ in that lofty, superior tone, like an angel with a new halo, either,” pursued her aggrieved friend.  “You know it was.  What do you suppose he’s doing down here?”

“The epidemic is the ‘Clarion’s’ special news.  He spends quite a little time in this district, I believe.”

“Oh, you believe!  Then you’ve seen him lately?”

“Yes.”

Miss Pierce stared rigidly in front of her and made a detour of magnificent distance to avoid a push-cart which wasn’t in her way anyhow.  “Esme,” she said.

“Yes?”

“Did you give me away to him?”

“No.  He didn’t give me an opportunity.”

“Oh!” There was more silence.  Then, “Esme, I was pretty rotten about that, wasn’t I?”

“Why, Kathie, I think you ought to have written to him.”

“I meant to write and own up, no matter if I did tell you I wouldn’t.  But I kept putting it off.  Esme, did you notice how thin and worn he looks?”

The other winced.  “He’s had a great deal to worry him.”

“Well, he hasn’t got our lawsuit to worry him any more.  That’s off.”

“Off?” A light flashed into Esme’s face.  “Your father has dropped it?”

“Yes.  He had to.  I told him the accident was my fault, and if I was put on the stand I’d say so.  I’m not so popular with Pop as I might be, just now.  But, Esme, I didn’t mean to run away and leave her in the gutter.  I got rattled, and Brother was crying and I lost my head.”

“That will save the ‘Clarion,’” said Esme, with a deep breath.

Kathleen looked at her curiously, and then made a singular remark.  “Yes; that’s what I did it for.”

“But what interest have you in saving the ’Clarion’?” demanded Esme, bewildered.

“The failure of the ‘Clarion’ would be a disaster to the city,” observed Miss Pierce in copy-book style.

“Kathie!  You should make two jabs in the air with your forefinger when you quote.  Otherwise you’re a plagiarist.  Let me see.”  Esme pondered.  “Hugh Merritt,” she decided.

Kathleen kept her eyes steady ahead, but a flood of color rose in her face.

“I had an awful fight over it with him before—­before I gave in,” she said.

“Are you going to marry Hugh?” demanded Esme bluntly.

The color deepened until even the velvety eyes seemed tinged with it.  “I don’t know. He isn’t exactly popular with Pop, either.”

Esme reached over and gave her friend a surreptitious little hug, which might have cost a crossing pedestrian his life if he hadn’t been a brisk dodger.

“Hugh Merritt is a man,” said she in a low voice:  “He’s brave and he’s straight and he’s fine.  And oh, Kathie, dearest, if a man of that kind loves you, don’t you ever, ever let anything come between you.”

“Hello!” said Kathleen in surprise.  “That don’t sound much like the Great American Man-eating Pumess of yore.  There’s been a big change in you since you sidetracked Will Douglas, Esme.  Did you really care?  No, of course, you didn’t,” she answered herself.  “He’s a nice chap, but he isn’t particularly brave or fine, I guess.”