"I think," she said, as that vehicle began to pump through the streets, "I'll pay a little call on Mr. Wesley Dyker." She found him, somewhat surprised beneath his drooping lids, at his office, and he immediately agreed to see her alone. "Now then," she said pleasantly, seating herself unasked before his desk and leaning easily back in her chair, "what I want to know is: Am I goin' to be let alone?" Dyker stroked his crisp mustache. He wanted to gain time. "You were acquitted, then?" he asked. "Looks like it, don't it? See here, Wes, I know where all my trouble come from, an' I can pretty well guess how it come; but I'm willin' to ferget it if you are. Are you?" Dyker's slow eyes were raised to hers, then lowered. "Yes," he said. "All right. Now you'll need me an' I'll lend a hand, but I've got to know first off if I'm not goin' to be interfered with." "You had better see O'Malley about that." "No, I hadn't. You went to see him first; go to him again." "I----" Dyker twirled a pencil between his white fingers. "I shan't be sorry if I do?" "You will not." "I may count on that, may I?" Rose squared herself in her chair. "Got a talkin'-machine around here?" she inquired. "Why, no." "Because I'd like to have some soft music while I tell you the story of my life--see?" "I don't believe you have to tell that." "Yes, I do. I want you to know just what I am; then you'll see whether you can depend on me. I was brought up decent--that's the truth. I had my church an' Sunday-school like you had, an' perhaps more. The other sort of school I had to quit early, because my old man wasn't paid enough to keep me on, an' I had to go to work myself. I was under the age; but I swore I wasn't, so that was all right, an' after I'd tramped over the whole town, I got a job filin' letters an' addressin' circulars in a young broker's office. I was mighty little, but I was mighty good lookin'. I thought he took me for what I could do, but I found out he took me for my looks." She spoke quite without emotion, and Dyker, in spite of himself, was interested. "It cost that broker a lot to live," she continued; "so much that he couldn't afford to get married. When he'd got through with me, after a few years, an' the baby was dead in the hospital, my people were so damned respectable that I didn't dare go home to them. Wall Street had been plungin'; nobody'd buy stocks; I couldn't get a job there. Times was hard and I couldn't find a place anywhere else. It was up to me to starve to death, go into a home an' be marked for life, or get real money the best way I could." She paused, and Wesley found himself interjecting an urging "Well?"