Her first sensation had been one of relief in finding that her false affidavit was not held against her; her next had been fright at his anger; but now she was all penitence for the ill she had wrought him. Dyker was the one man in New York that had done her a kindness, and she held that kindness as the greatest possible. "What do you want?" she asked. "I'd do most anything for you, Mr. Dyker: you know that." They were under the uncertain light of a crossing. He eyed her narrowly, mistrustingly. "I want you," he replied, "to come to my office to-morrow evening at six. Here's my card. Will you do it?" She took the card and thrust it through the opening of her shirtwaist. "What do you want with me when you get me there?" she wondered. "I want you to come with me to Miss Lennox, and deny the story that you told her about me." Mary's heart sank. She could not bear the thought of facing Marian. "What's the use o' that?" she pleaded. "What's the use? Why, how else are you going to put me right with her?" "But I couldn't." "You must." "I couldn't, Mr. Dyker. Honest, I couldn't. She'd know I was lyin' to her." "You leave that to me." "What excuse'd I give her?" "We'll fix that up to-morrow." "Please don't make me do it, Mr. Dyker!" "I've got to. What else can I do?--It's all your own fault. What's your address?" She gave it to him tremulously. "All right," he said. "I'll have a cab there for you to-morrow at five-thirty." Her body shook with frightened sobs. "Oh, Mr. Dyker," she repeated, "please don't make me do this! I'd do anythin', 'most, under the sun for you; but I can't face Miss Marian--honest to God, I can't." What he should have done was to play upon her gratitude, but what he did do was again to allow his mistrust and anger to have their rein. "I won't have any nonsense about this, Violet," he said. "If you don't come to my office to-morrow at six, I'll have you arrested--and I'll see to it that you won't escape with a mere fine, either." "It won't----" She could not grasp it. "What do you mean?" she asked. "I mean I'll have you arrested on a big charge." Her lips stiffened with that common terror of the law, about the only terror that the law ever succeeds nowadays in creating: the unreasoning terror that seldom serves as a deterrent. "I ain't done nothin' but this," she said, in the full knowledge that what she had or had not done would be no factor in the problem. "You'll find out about that when the time comes," he answered. "What I want to know is whether you'll do me this favor or not." He had stopped and confronted her. Even in the semi-darkness her anxious eyes managed to read his pale, determined face, but even in the daylight they could have found there no relenting. She gave him a despairing smile. "I guess I've got to," she said. "Yes, you'll have to." "All right." "You'll do it?" "I'll do it, all right." "No bluff?" "No." "Remember: if you don't, I'll fix you."