He studied her, thinking what a friend she might be to that other poor girl in her loneliness and sorrow if she only would.  He didn’t know that he was yielding again to the lure that the red light had made the last time he was there.  He didn’t realize that, red light or white light, he was being led on.  He only knew that it was a pleasure to talk to her, to be near her, to feel her sympathy; and that something had unlocked the innermost depths of his heart, the place he usually kept to himself, even away from the fellows.  He had never quite opened it to a human being before.  Tennelly had come nearer to getting a glimpse than any one.  But now he was really going to open it, for he had at last found another human being who could understand and appreciate.

“May I shut off the bright light and sit in the firelight?” he asked, and Gila acquiesced sweetly.  It was just what she had been leading up to, but she did not move from her reticent yet sympathetic position in the retired depths of the great chair, where she knew the shadows and the glow of the fire would play on her face and show her sweet, serious pose.

“I want to tell you about a girl I have met this week.”

A chill fell upon Gila, but she did not show it, she never even flickered those long lashes.  Another girl!  How dared he!  The little white teeth set down sharply on the little red tongue out of sight, but the sweet, sympathetic mouth in the glow of the firelight remained placid.

“Yes?” The inflection, the lifted lashes, the whole attitude, was perfect.  He plunged ahead.

“You are so very wonderful yourself that I am sure you will appreciate and understand her, and I think you are just the friend she needs.”

Gila stiffened in her chair and turned her face nicely to the glow of the fire, so he could just see her lovely profile.

“She is all alone in the city—­”

“Oh!” broke forth Gila in almost childish dismay.  “Not even a chaperon?”

Courtland stopped, bewildered.  Then he laughed indulgently.  “She didn’t have any use for a chaperon, child,” he said, as if he were a great deal older than she.  “She came here with her little brother to earn their living.”

“Oh, she had a brother, then!” sighed Gila with evident relief.

It occurred to Courtland to be a bit pleased that Gila was so particular about the conventionalities.  He had heard it rumored more than once that her own conduct overstepped the most lenient of rules.  That must have been a mistake.  It was a relief to know it from her own lips.  But he explained, gently: 

“The little brother was killed on Monday night,” he said, gravely.  “Just run down in cold blood by a passing automobile.”