"How do you do," was the reply, uttered in a timid treble. "I am Mrs. Harper. I understand--" Her head turned from side to side as she hesitated. She clasped her hands and gazed pleadingly at Millie. "I've been told--" Again she hesitated nervously, tears in her eyes. She noticed Blodgett and Hammond gazing at her. In desperation, her blushes showing under the heavy veil, she whispered, quaveringly, "Could I speak to you privately?" "Certainly," said Millie, hiding her amusement. "Just step into this room," and she led the little woman away. As they left the room, followed by the faithful maid, another guest entered, an attractive woman of thirty. She was highly colored as to hair and complexion, and she had about her an air far removed from the chic, haughty member of the millionaire divorce colony that centered about the Reno hotels. In type she was not unlike Mrs. Harper, except that she did not show any special evidence of timidity. On the contrary, she seemed perfectly at home. But she came in with the aid of a crutch and leaning on the arm of the stage-driver. Her eyes took a calm inventory of the lobby--including Townsend, on whom she smiled coquettishly as she sighed with relief and sank into a chair. Townsend was leaning against the California desk, and he had been watching Blodgett and Hammond, who, conversing in low tones, had strolled out to the veranda. He was surprised to note that the pair had met before and seemed to know each other quite well. His attention, however, was now drawn to the attractive new guest. Her smile was not without effect. She turned to the driver. "I'm all right now, thank you," she drawled, though her voice was soft and pleasant. "Just drop my bag here." Fumbling in her purse for change that did not seem to be there, she directed a glance toward Townsend and smiled again. "Will you change five dollars for me?" she asked. Townsend drew out his wallet and examined its contents, but put it back again disappointedly. "I'm afraid I can't," he said, with obvious regret. "Well, then," said the attractive woman, with a frown, "pay the driver, please." Townsend gave a slight start of chagrin, feeling that his standing as a candidate for a judgeship was suffering by her lack of discernment. Then, as the truth of the situation dawned on him, he suppressed a chuckle. Without a word, he handed some change to the driver. "Charge it to my account," she ordered, settling herself comfortably in the chair, extending one foot which was bound in a heavy bandage about the ankle and clad in a soft slipper. Townsend, still smiling, began: "Well--er--" "I'm Mrs. Davis," she interrupted, ignoring his embarrassment. "Mrs. Margaret Davis." She turned her wide blue eyes full upon him as she switched in her chair, the movement bringing a twinge of pain to her face. Townsend left the desk and came toward her. "I'm very glad to meet you." He extended an affable hand. "I'm Lemuel Townsend, and I--"