“It complicates them abominably!”

“I suppose you were surprised when you found that I was on the same game as yourself.”

“Not in the least.”

“You weren’t!”

“I knew it directly I saw the advertisement in the Morning Post.  And I hunted up the Morning Post directly you had told me that you had become Mr. Peters’ valet.”

“You have known all along!”

“I have.”

Ashe regarded her admiringly.

“You’re wonderful!”

“Because I saw through you?”

“Partly that; but chiefly because you had the pluck to undertake a thing like this.”

“You undertook it.”

“But I’m a man.”

“And I’m a woman.  And my theory, Mr. Marson, is that a woman can do nearly everything better than a man.  What a splendid test case this would make to settle the Votes-for-Women question once and for all!  Here we are—­you and I—­a man and a woman, each trying for the same thing and each starting with equal chances.  Suppose I beat you?  How about the inferiority of women then?”

“I never said women were inferior.”

“You did with your eyes.”

“Besides, you’re an exceptional woman.”

“You can’t get out of it with a compliment.  I’m an ordinary woman and I’m going to beat a real man.”

Ashe frowned.

“I don’t like to think of ourselves as working against each other.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like you.”

“I like you, Mr. Marson; but we must not let sentiment interfere with business.  You want Mr. Peters’ five thousand dollars.  So do I.”

“I hate the thought of being the instrument to prevent you from getting the money.”

“You won’t be.  I shall be the instrument to prevent you from getting it.  I don’t like that thought, either; but one has got to face it.”

“It makes me feel mean.”

“That’s simply your old-fashioned masculine attitude toward the female, Mr. Marson.  You look on woman as a weak creature, to be shielded and petted.  We aren’t anything of the sort.  We’re terrors!  We’re as hard as nails.  We’re awful creatures.  You mustn’t let my sex interfere with your trying to get this reward.  Think of me as though I were another man.  We’re up against each other in a fair fight, and I don’t want any special privileges.  If you don’t do your best from now onward I shall never forgive you.  Do you understand?”

“I suppose so.”

“And we shall need to do our best.  That little man with the glasses is on his guard.  I was listening to you last night from behind the door.  By the way, you shouldn’t have told me to run away and then have stayed yourself to be caught.  That is an example of the sort of thing I mean.  It was chivalry—­not business.”

“I had a story ready to account for my being there.  You had not.”