“That is because you do not know me,” she declared. “If you knew me—if you knew all about my terrible position, tied to this man I hate, you would have sympathy for me.” “Even though you are bound to a man you hate, you are doing a most unwise thing in seeking consolation from a stranger and an actor. You can know nothing of me. Take my advice, madam, release yourself from this man you hate before you seek to win the affections of any other man. If you do not, you will succeed in winning nothing but the disdain of any man worth winning.” Again the tears brimmed in her eyes. “Oh, how can you speak to me like that!” she cried. “It is cruel of you!” “In this case, cruelty may be kindness. You have placed me in a most awkward situation, madam. If you have as much regard for me as you claim, it hardly seems that you would do such a thing.” “Oh, what can a woman do when her heart governs her in her every act! I felt that I must meet you, and there was no other way for me to do so. I could not let you go without knowing you—without seeking a few words of consolation from you.” “I am very sorry for you, but you should let your head govern your heart. I trust you will excuse me, madam. This interview is anything but pleasant for me.” He half turned away, but she uttered a cry that stopped him. She seemed on the point of flinging herself at his feet. “Great Scott!” gasped Merry. “I hope she isn’t going to make a scene of that sort! It would be too much!” “Don’t—don’t leave me just yet!” she entreated. “I must,” he firmly answered. “Stop!” she exclaimed, her eyes beginning to flash. “You cannot scorn me—you shall not! I have cast my pride aside, and I have exposed myself to your ridicule—all for what?” “Nothing.” The word seemed like a blow. For a moment he fancied she was about to pour a torrent of angry words upon him, but something entirely different happened. With a low, queer cry, she sprang forward, attempting to fling her arms about his neck! “I love you!” she panted. He grasped her wrists and held her off. “You are crazy!” he exclaimed. At that instant a flushed and furious-looking man burst into the parlor, carrying a revolver in his hand. “Villain!” cried the man. “That is my wife!” “Well, this is jolly!” muttered Merry, wheeling to face the newcomer. “Reginald!” burst from the lips of the woman. The man paid no attention to her, but he glared at Merry in a murderous manner, shaking the revolver. “Wretch!” he snarled. He was a man about thirty years of age, well dressed, but somewhat dissipated in appearance. He seemed wrought up to a pitch of great fury. “My dear sir,” said Merry, with the utmost coolness, “you had better be careful with that revolver.” “Be careful!” grated the angry husband. “I’ll be careful with it! I’ll fill you full of lead!” “Now, I wouldn’t do that. You might be sorry for it afterward.” “What were you doing with my wife?” “Giving her a little advice, that’s all.”