"Do I? Well, rather. Chinatown's got anything I ever saw wiped right off the map. Great!"

"Indeed?" The amount of reproof that Mrs. Pope could put into that single word exceeds belief. "I should hardly suppose any respectable person would want to visit such places."

"I'm afraid I'm not respectable, Mrs. Pope. I'm only honest," laughed Hall, as he turned to Edith. "I looked for your husband on the train, Mrs. Rogers. Hoped I might be lucky enough to run across him."

"He came earlier. He's dressing now. I'm expecting him down at any moment."

"Dressing!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Mr. Hall, with a wry face. "Whew! I'm afraid I'll disgrace the party. I didn't bring my evening togs. Somehow, I'd got the idea from your sister that you were roughing it down here. She wrote me you had taken a cottage--" He looked about the stately hall with a broad smile. "Some cottage!" he observed.

"Don't bother about not dressing, Mr. Hall. Mr. Rogers generally wears flannels, hot nights like this. Shall I show you to your room?"

"Let me do so, Edith," said Mrs. Pope, puffing forward importantly.

"And, really, I'm going up, anyway."

She swept up the staircase, with their guest meekly following in her rear.

"Dinner at seven," called Alice, after them.

"Well, Edith, how do you like him?" she asked, when they were alone.

"He's awfully breezy, isn't he? I imagine he's very sincere and straightforward."

"Emerson's as straight as they make them. No foolishness about him.

We're engaged--almost, that is. Don't let on to mother."

"Engaged! Not really! When did he ask you?"

"Coming up from the station."

"He certainly didn't lose any time," observed Edith, laughing. "Did you accept him?"

"Of course not. Now he'll have to do it all over again. To-night, perhaps, down on the rocks. I shouldn't think of accepting a man in an automobile. It isn't romantic enough."

"Didn't he feel discouraged?"

"Not a bit. You couldn't discourage Emerson with a pile-driver.

Anyway--I guess he understood." She smiled quietly to herself.

"I thought," Edith said, somewhat nervously, "that he seemed rather surprised at the way we are living here. I suppose he wonders where all the money is coming from."

"I suppose so. He did seem a bit overcome, when he saw the auto. Asked me if Donald had struck a gold mine."

"A gold mine! Alice! He doesn't know anything about the--will, does he?"

Mrs. Rogers seemed troubled, her face had lost its animation, her eyes took on a hunted look.

"I don't think so," replied her sister, "but why shouldn't he?"

"I'd rather he didn't. It might look--well, sort of queer--and then, Donald might not want him to think--"

"To think what?" interrupted Alice sharply.

"Oh, nothing! I suppose he'll have to know, some time. Only it seems, somehow, to make Donald look sort of cheap--don't you see?"

"No, I don't," said Alice bluntly. "There is nothing to be ashamed of--at least, nothing that anybody knows anything about. You seem to be getting awfully considerate of Donald lately."

"Perhaps I'm only just beginning to find out what a splendid fellow he is."

"Well, if you are, I'm glad of it, but I shouldn't get up any more excitement about this money if I were you. It will look suspicious."

"Did Mr. Hall ever write you anything more about--about Mr. West after that telegram we sent him?"

"No, never. You remember the answer he sent the next day, telling us poor Billy was dead. He's never mentioned the matter since. You know he left Denver shortly after that."

"Yes, I remember. I wonder if he could know anything."

Alice looked disgusted. "Don't be absurd, Edith," she said. "How could he? How could anybody? For heaven's sake, don't get yourself all worked up about nothing. I'm the only person in the world, outside of yourself, that knows anything about your affair with Billy West, and I certainly am not going to say anything. I wouldn't have Emerson know for the world. He might change his mind about me."

"Alice!" exclaimed her sister. "That's an awful thing to say."

"Well, it's true, isn't it? I don't mind his knowing that Billy left you the money. I think he ought to know that. But when it comes to his knowing why he left it--I draw the line. Of course, he couldn't blame me, but if he thought that my sister was living on the money left her by her--well, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Edith, but he might not care so much about becoming one of the family."

Edith shrank away from her sister, her face quivering. "You say that to me--you, who advised me to take it!"

"Don't try to blame it on me, Edith. I advised you to keep your mouth shut, and not make things any worse than they were. I advise you to do the same thing now."

"So that you can go on enjoying the fruits of my wrong-doing." Mrs.

Rogers looked at her sister scornfully--defiantly.

"For heaven's sake, don't get so melodramatic. The thing's past. Why not forget it?"

"Can you forget it? You are ashamed to let the man you love know about it, for fear he might not want to marry you--not want to marry you, on account of me."

"You take the thing too seriously, Edith. You never told me much about your affair with Billy West, and I never asked you. Every family has a skeleton in its closet. Most of them are lucky if they haven't several, but they don't make a practice of parading them before the public. What on earth do you want to talk about this thing for? It can't do any good now."

"Because I'm sick of living this lie. I've a great mind to tell Donald everything."

"You are getting just plain, ordinary dippy, Edith. You ought to take something for it. Do you know what he would do?"

"He couldn't do anything that would make matters worse than they are."

"He couldn't? You think he couldn't? Well, I'll tell you what he would do. He'd make you give up every cent of this money so quick it would make your hair stand on end."

"Alice! What do you mean?" Mrs. Rogers was horror-struck. This phase of the matter had evidently not occurred to her.

"I should think it was plain enough. He couldn't do anything else. If you didn't do as he wished, he would leave you. He might do it, anyway.

He isn't the sort of a man who would stand for any foolishness, kind as he is. You know that. You'd lose either your husband or your money. Then where would you be?"

"Donald would never do a thing like that."