"Let up, people," he said, tersely; "she don't want it." "Oh, dewberries!" observed Bob Masterman, mincingly. "Well, here's to the trimmin' our boy Nick so nearly got--may we never, never be so near the cruel bread-line agen!" Supper passed amid a continual "kidding back and forth" between Miss Yockley and Mr. Masterman, which speeded up as the champagne bottles emptied. "Oo-aw!" said Miss Stella, fanning herself and rising at length, a little unsteadily, from behind her emptied glass and coffee-cup; "I feel like a breath of fresh air." "You don't _look_ like a breath o' fresh air," chortled her drinking companion; "you look like t-ten cents' worth o' tough luck, Stel. Get on your hat, an' I'll walk you 'round the block, little one." With this, the two passed into the front room. Daisy thought they were joking about going out, till she heard the hall-door slam behind them. Then she jumped up. "Wh-why--have they gone?" she said. "They sure have," said Mr. Cluett, leaning back lazily in his chair; "but we should worry." "Will they be long?" said Daisy. "Search me," responded Nick Cluett; "They may go to a picture-show. Maybe they'll slip into a vaudeville show. We don't care--eh?" Daisy looked out into the empty front room of the suite. A gramophone on a small table met her eyes. "Let's put on some music," she said. Cluett got up, and came over, and stood beside her. "Not to-night," he said, looking down. The champagne had brought a kind of dull color to his cheeks and forehead. "What do we want with music, kid? Come on--let's be a little friendly, huh?" His strong lean arm slid around her waist. It was then that Daisy lifted up her face, let all the coquetry pass from it, and regarded him with eyes that were straight and sober. "Stop it!" she said. For answer, the arm tightened about her. Nick Cluett leaned to kiss her. "If you don't stop it," said Daisy, rigid in his arms; "you're no gentleman." Cluett relaxed his arm a little. His queer-smiling face, with its keen eyes, slanted down towards her in concentrated, silent interrogation. Daisy's spirit of mischief tempted her to drop her eyes; but she managed to resist the impulse and to keep her features sober-expressioned. "You're not goin' to be friendly, then?" he said. Daisy dimpled ever so slightly. "Not just now", she answered. "Do you mean that--or don't you?" "I mean it," said Daisy, simply; "not in here, anyway. Why can't we go out, and get a breath of fresh air, too, and go to a picture-show?" Nick Cluett took his arm from her waist, reached for his hat, and opened the hall-door. "Come on," he said, "I'll see you safe home, Kid." CHAPTER XI. THE FACE BEHIND THE MASK.