No. 13 Washington Square | Page 8

him.
"But, Clara, you don't seem to understand that business--and you don't
seem to understand me."
"No, I must say I don't!" she said caustically.
"Well, perhaps I can't blame you," he admitted soothingly, "for I don't
always understand myself. But really, my dear, you're not seeing this in

the right light. Oh, I'm not going to defend myself. It's sad, very sad,
but I'll confess I'm no chromo of sweet and haloed rectitude to be held
up for the encouragement and beatification of young John D.
Rockefeller's Bible Class. Still, I get my living quite as worthily as
many of the guests who grace"--with a light wave of his hand about the
great chamber--"this noble habitation. Though," in a grieved tone, "I'll
confess some of my methods are not yet adequately recognized and
protected by law."
"Won't you ever take anything seriously?" she cried in exasperation.
"Besides yourself, what is there to take seriously?"
"Don't consider me in your calculations, if you please!" And then with
sudden suspicion: "See here--you're not here to try any of your tricks
on this house, or on Mrs. De Peyster!"
"I was thinking," said he, smiling about the room, "that you might hide
me here till the police become infatuated with some other party. A
fashionable house closed for the summer--nothing could possibly be
superior for my purposes."
"I'd never do it! Besides, Mrs. De Peyster's housekeeper will be here."
"But Mrs. De Peyster's housekeeper would never know I was here."
"I can't stand your talk another minute," she burst out. "Go!"
He did not stir; continued to smile at her pleasantly. "Oh, I'm not really
asking the favor, Clara. I'm pretty safe where I'm staying."
"Go, I say! And if you don't care for your own danger, then at least
consider mine."
"Yours?"
"I've told you of Mrs. De Peyster's attitude toward married--"
"Then leave her, my dear. Even though it wouldn't be safe for you to be

with me till the police resume their interrupted nap--still, you can have
your own flat and your own bank account. Nothing would make me
happier."
"Understand this, Mr. Bradford,--I'm going to have nothing to do with
you!"
For a moment he sobered. "Come, Clara: give me a chance to make
good--"
"Will you turn straight?" she caught him up sharply. "And will you fix
up the affair of the Jefferson letters?"
"That last is a pretty stiff proposition; I don't see how it's to be done. As
to the first--but, really, Clara,"--smiling again appeasingly,--"really,
you take this thing altogether too seriously."
"Too seriously!" She almost choked. "Why--why--I'm through with you!
That's final! And I don't dare stay here another minute! Good-bye."
"Wait, Clara." He caught her hand as she turned to go, and spoke
rapidly. "I don't think I'm so bad as you think I am--honest. You may
change your mind; I hope you do, dear; and if you do, write me, 'phone
me, telegraph me, cable me, wireless me. But, of course, not to me
direct; the police, you know. Address me in care of the Reverend Mr.
Pyecroft." Tense though the moment was to him, the young man could
not restrain his odd whimsical smile. "The Reverend Mr. Pyecroft has
taken an interest in me; like you he is trying to make me a better man.
He'll see that I get your message. Herbert E.
Pyecroft--P-y-e-c-r-o-f-t--remember his name. Here's a card of the
boarding-house at which he is staying." He thrust the bit of pasteboard
into her free hand. "Remember, dear, I really am your husband."
With an outraged gesture she flung the card to the floor. "There'll be no
message!" Her voice was raised; she trembled in fierce humiliation, and
in scorn of him. "You ... my husband!"
"Yes, your husband!" he said firmly. "And I'm going to make you love

me!"
It was at just this moment that Mrs. De Peyster, ascending from her
scene with the reporters, was passing without, and it was these last
words that she overheard. And it was at just this moment that her knock
sounded upon the door.
"Quick, you mustn't be seen here!" breathed Miss Gardner. "The
French windows there, and out the back way through the stable!"
With a cat's silent swiftness he was at the windows, Miss Gardner
beside him. But in the back-yard stood William, the coachman, sunning
himself. That way was closed.
"Into the study," whispered Miss Gardner, pointing at a door, "and
watch your chance to get out!"
In the same instant the heavy sound-proof mahogany door closed softly
behind him--leaving Miss Gardner in the middle of the room, with
heightened color, breathing rapidly. Into the library swept Mrs. De
Peyster, followed by Olivetta and Matilda.
There was a lofty sternness in Mrs. De Peyster's manner. "Miss
Gardner, I believe I