Helena hesitated. "Do--do I need to tell you?" she asked. "You must," firmly. "She's--you'll never breathe it?" "You must leave that to my discretion. I shall do what is best." "She is the daughter of Don Roberto Yorba." "O Lord! _O_ Lord!" He threw back his head and gave a prolonged chuckle. The young man edged up to the desk. "Who is that man?" demanded Helena, haughtily. She felt quite mistress of the situation. "He's a reporter." "What's that?" "Why, a reporter for the newspapers." "I know nothing of the newspapers," said Helena, with an annihilating glance at the reporter. "My father does not permit me to read them." The sergeant sprang to his feet. "This _is_ no place for you," he muttered. "That's the best thing I've heard of Jack Belmont for some time. Here, come along, both of you." He motioned to the girls to enter the passage, and turned to the officer. "Don't let anybody leave the room till I come back," he said; and the reporter, who had started eagerly forward, fell back with a scowl. "There's no 'story' in this, young man," said the sergeant, severely; "and you'll oblige _me_," with significant emphasis, "by making no reference to it." "I think you're just splendid!" exclaimed Helena, as they went down the passage. "Oh, well, we all like your father. Although it would be a great joke on him,--Scott, but it would! However, it wouldn't be any joke on you a few years from now, so I'm going to send you home with a little good advice,--don't do it again." "But it's such fun to run to fires!" replied Helena, who now feared nothing under heaven. "We _did_ have a time!" "Well, if you're set on running to fires, go in your own good clothes, with money enough in your pocket to grease the palm of people like our friend Tim. Here we are." He called a hack and handed the girls in. "Please tell him to stop a few doors from the house," said Helena; "and," with her most engaging smile, "I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to pay him. If you'll give me your address, I'll send you the amount first thing to-morrow." "Oh, don't mention it. Just ask your father to vote for Tom Shannon when he runs for sheriff. It's no use asking anything of old Yorba," he added, with some viciousness. "And I'd advise you, young lady, to keep this night's lark pretty dark." The remark was addressed to Magdalena, but she only lifted her head haughtily and turned it away. Helena replied hastily,-- "My father shall vote for you and make all his friends vote, too. I won't tell him about this until next Wednesday, the day before I leave for New York; then he'll be feeling so badly he won't say a word, and he'll be so grateful to you that he'll do anything. Good-night." "Good-night, miss, and I guess you'll get along in this world."