Dyker had quailed under the revelation, thus made to him, of political danger. He now quivered in anger at the comments upon himself, somewhat colored, that Violet had placed in the mouths of Rose and Angel. "I'll find out about this!" he said, struggling against the desperate arms flung swiftly around him to keep him on the sofa. "Let me go! By God, I'll have that drunken cat down here and squeeze the truth out of her throat!" All the caution, all the craft, all that she had counted upon as the real Wesley Dyker seemed to have escaped him. His voice was still low, but in every other respect he was a raging beast. She fought with him, mentally and physically. "You can't get anything out of her that way," Violet urged, as the man twisted under her strong hands. "Of course she'll say it's all lies. And you'd only be warning her. You don't want her to know that you know; you want a chance to block her game." Partly convinced by this argument and partly subdued by the physical restraint that accompanied it, Dyker ceased his struggles. "But I want to be sure," he muttered sullenly. "You can't be sure by goin' to Miss Rose." "Well, I ought to tell her." The high tide of his anger was slowly subsiding, and the rocky Dyker that she had built on was beginning to show its crest above the still hissing waves. "Look here, Violet," he said, "I'm sorry I behaved like such a fool. I beg your pardon, but you must see that I have got to put this thing up to Rose." "You forget your promise." "No, I don't, but I must make sure." Violet thought rapidly. "Listen," she said; "I told you I wanted you to do something for me an' you gave your word you'd do it.--Will you?" "Of course I will, only I'm thinking a little about myself." "This will help you, too." "What do you want?" Violet drew a long breath. "I want you to go over to the avenue right away," she said, "and buy me a long cloak and a hat and bring them back, and then take me out of here without a word to anybody. You needn't walk more'n three squares with me, an' then I won't bother you no more." Dyker drew away and whistled softly. His face grew quite composed again. The heavy lids fell over his eyes. "So that's it, is it?" he asked. "I want to get away," said Violet. "And so you've cooked up this little mess of lies to make me the goat, eh?" Violet felt the sands slipping beneath her feet. She laced her fingers together till the knuckles bruised her flesh. "Don't do that," she pleaded; "don't take it that way; it's true, what I told you, every word of it. I only want you to keep your promise to me." She stopped with a sob, and waited. Wesley reached calmly for a glass of wine, drank it, put down the glass, thrust his hands deep into his trousers' pockets, and, stretching out his long legs, regarded, humming, the toes of his shining pumps. "I don't believe you," he said at last. "But, Mr. Dyker----" "It's too thin."