There was something in his manner which warned her that his real meaning was intentionally obscured. She remembered that Marsh had once boasted of having proof that she was in North's rooms the afternoon of the murder and it flashed across her mind that if any one really knew of her presence there it was Gilmore himself. She studied him furtively, and she observed that his black waxed mustache shaded a pair of lips that wore a mirthless smile, and what had at first been no more than an undefined suspicion grew into a certainty. Gilmore shifted uneasily in his chair. He felt that since their last meeting he had lost ground with her. "What's the matter,--why do you keep me at arm's length; what have I done, anyhow?" he asked impatiently. "Do I keep you at arm's length? Well, perhaps you need to be kept there," she said. "You should know what brings me here,--why it is I can't keep away--" "How should I know, unless you tell me?" she said softly. Gilmore bent toward her, his eyes lustrous with suppressed feeling. "Isn't that another of your little jokes, Evelyn? Do you really want me to tell you?" "I am dying with curiosity!" Voice and manner seemed to encourage, and the gambler felt his heart leap within him. "Well, I guess it's principally to see you!" he muttered, but his lips quivered with emotion. She laughed. "Just see how mistaken one may be, Andy; I thought all along it was Marsh!" At her use of his Christian name his heavy face became radiant. His purposes were usually allied to an admirable directness of speech that never left one long in doubt as to his full meaning. "Look here, aren't you about sick of Marsh?" he asked. "How long are you going to stand for this sort of thing? You have a right to expect something better than he has to offer you!" She met the glance of his burning black eyes with undisturbed serenity, but a cruel smile had come again to the corners of her mouth. She was preparing to settle her score with Gilmore in a fashion he would not soon forget. One of her hands rested on the arm of her chair, and the gambler's ringed fingers closed about it; but apparently she was unaware of this; at least she did not seek to withdraw it. "By God, you're pretty!" he cried. "What do you mean?" she asked quietly. "Mean,--don't you know that I love you? Have I got to make it plain that I care for you,--that you are everything to me?" he asked, bending toward her. "So you care a great deal about me, do you, Andy?" she asked slowly. "I like to hear you call me that!" he said with a deep breath. "What is it, Andy--what do you want?" she continued.