“I don’t get to New York very often, Miss Gilmore,” Mr. Morton continued, “but this time I’m making it an old man’s business and pleasure to try to recapture some of my own youth by getting acquainted with Jack’s friends. I suppose he’s known you a long time?” “On the other hand, we first met quite recently.” “If I knew how to be gallant in your Eastern fashion, I might remark that Jack has lost a lot, then. I wonder if you’re one of our leading actresses? Jack seems to know so many stage people.” “I’m not even the greatest motion-picture star yet discovered; and you know there are thousands of her. I’m just an ordinary woman.” “Not ordinary!” protested Mr. Morton. “I suppose-- But, of course, this curiosity of a provincial must be offensive to you?” “I did not know that a Chicagoan ever admitted himself a provincial.” “Call it the prying curiosity of an old father. That’s just as bad.” “A father should be curious,” Mary said evenly. “I was about to say that I suppose you are a native New Yorker?” “Not in the sense that you probably mean--that I am of an old family here, and have a lot of relations.” “But you are a New Yorker?” “I was born here. But a large part of my life I spent in France--where,” she added, “both my parents died.” “An orphan--and no relations! Perhaps you are one of those independent New York bachelor girls we read about?” “I live with an aunt. We have an apartment--just a little box of a thing.” “Indeed. Would it be presuming too much on Jack’s friendship if I might call upon you and your aunt?” “Aunt Isabel and I will be pleased to have you,” she returned evenly. “Thank you. If you will find out just when it will be most convenient for her, and let me know through Jack, I’ll be there.” Clifford had to admire the composure with which she carried herself through this polite but dangerous inquisition--every instant of which, he saw, was an almost unbearable strain upon the suspense-ridden Jack. But by her invention of an aunt, which had opened the way for a proposal to call, he felt that she might have made a fatal slip. But there was no telling: it looked bad, yes,--but she had a faculty, a gift, for smoothly extricating herself from the worst of situations. Before this cross-examination could proceed further, little Peter Loveman appeared at the table. Clifford instantly surmised the shrewd little lawyer’s motive: he had witnessed the scene, and, knowing its dangers to himself, sought to intervene before there could be exposure and explosion. “Pardon me for breaking in on your party, Mr. Morton,” he said, with his glib amiability. “But some facts just came to my knowledge which, as your lawyer, I feel you ought to know at once.” “All right; I was just leaving, anyhow. Jack, I’ve been wanting to see you all day--it’s really very important. I wonder if Miss Gilmore would forgive you, and us, if we left her with Mr. Clifford?”