“Have you anything to tell me?” he asked, and his low, gentle voice was a comfort to her raw nerves.

“It’s a man, just as I thought—­the man she works for.”

“Is he married?”

“No.  Going to be soon, the papers say.  He’s a wealthy promoter.  His name’s Cunningham.”

“What Cunningham?” In his astonishment the words seemed to leap from him of their own volition.

“James Cunningham, a big land and mining man.  You must have heard of him.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of him.  Are you sure?”

She nodded.  “Esther won’t tell me a thing.  She’s shielding him.  But I went through her letters and found a note from him.  It’s signed ’J.  C.’  I accused him point-blank to her and she just put her head down on her arms and sobbed.  I know he’s the man.”

“What do you mean to do?”

“I mean to have a talk with him first off.  I’ll make him do what’s right.”

“How?”

“I don’t know how, but I will,” she cried wildly.  “If he don’t I’ll settle with him.  Nothing’s too bad for a man like that.”

He shook his head.  “Not the best way, Rose.  Let’s be sure of every move we make.  Let’s check up on this man before we lay down the law to him.”

Some arresting quality in him held her eye.  He had sloughed the gay devil-may-care boyishness of the range and taken on a look of strong patience new in her experience of him.  But she was worn out and nervous.  The pain in her arm throbbed feverishly.  Her emotions had held her on a rack for many hours.  There was in her no reserve power of endurance.

“No, I’m going to see him and have it out,” she flung back.

“Then let me go with you when you see him.  You’re sick.  You ought to be in bed right now.  You’re in no condition to face it alone.”

“Oh, don’t baby me, Kirby!” she burst out.  “I’m all right.  What’s it matter if I am fagged.  Don’t you see?  I’m crazy about Esther.  I’ve got to get it settled.  I can rest afterward.”

“Will it do any harm to take a friend along when you go to see this man?”

“Yes.  I don’t want him to think I’m afraid of him.  You’re not in this, Kirby.  Esther is my little sister, not yours.”

“True enough.”  A sardonic, mirthless smile touched his face.  “But James Cunningham is my uncle, not yours.”

“Your uncle?” She rose, staring at him with big, dilated eyes.  “He’s your uncle, the man who—­who—­”

“Yes, an’ I know him better than you do.  We’ve got to use finesse—­”

“I see.”  Her eyes attacked him scornfully.  “You think we’d better not face him with what he’s done.  You think we’d better go easy on him.  Uncle’s rich, and he might not like plain words.  Oh, I understand now.”

Wild Rose flung out a gesture that brushed him from her friendship.  She moved past him blazing with anger.

He was at the elevator cage almost as soon as she.