“Bosh!” said Bob coolly. Gee-gee looked dangerous. Once more the pink-stockinged ankle began to swing agitatedly, and again reckless Bob narrowly escaped a slap in the face. “Mrs. Dan and Mrs. Clarence got Mrs. Ralston to ask you down here,” he went on. “You weren’t asked on account of your histrionic ability. You were asked because it was the only feasible way to get you beyond other strong, I may even say desperate, and to them, inimical influences. Mrs. Ralston isn’t the only one who is financing your little rural expedition. I guess you know what I mean?” “Nix!” said Gee-gee. “You’ve got me up in the air again. Turn the little wheel around and let the car come down. This ain’t Sunday, and if I was taking a little Coney-Island treat, I wouldn’t choose you for my escort.” “It certainly isn’t Sunday in the sense of a day of rest,” remarked Bob gloomily. By this time the hammer-man and Miss Gerald were beyond his range of vision. But he would not think of them; he must not. He had a duty to perform here; maybe it would do no good, but it was his duty to try. “That publicity racket is all right up to a certain point,” he said, bending his reproachful eyes upon Gee-gee. “But when it comes to smashing reputations, stretching the truth, and injuring others irreparably—all for a little cheap nauseating notoriety—Well”—Bob hit straight from the shoulder—“I tell you it’s rotten. And I, for one, shall do what I can to show up the whole conspiracy. That’s what it is. It would be different if you were going to tell what was so, but you aren’t. It isn’t in the cards.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Gee-gee’s tight dress nearly exploded now. The blood had receded from her face and left it a mottled cream while her greenish eyes glowed like opals. Her expression was animalistic. It seemed to say she would like to crush something beneath those high heels and grind them into it. “Yes, you do,” said Bob. “And it will be a frame-up for poor old Dan and Clarence, too!” Dickie’s description of what was going to happen recurred to him poignantly. “I tell you it’s a wicked cruel thing to do. I repeat, it’s rotten.” If he thought he could overwhelm Gee-gee by a display of superior masculine strength and moral force, he was mistaken. Gee-gee wasn’t that kind of a girl. She had some force herself, though whether of the moral kind is another matter.