"There's--there's something, Eliot, I wanted to say to you." She hesitated a moment, and then went on: "If I'd been on that jury and a murderer had been on trial, after hearing your defence, no matter what I knew your man had done, I would have acquitted him, I know. I think you're wonderful!" "If only our jury had felt as you feel, Leslie," he responded soberly. "If only they had acquitted," --and he was looking into her eyes now,--"why, things would be different to-night, so far as you and I are concerned." The girl flushed prettily, but did not dare to meet his glance. "We're going to fight it to a finish, aren't we?" she faltered. "That's the compact," he returned. "You're right--we'll fight it to a finish--first." "To see you, Miss Wilkinson." The voice was that of Jeffries, and he was handing her a card. Leslie took it and, turning slightly pale, started to leave the room. Before going out, however, she stopped and made her excuse to Eliot, begging him to wait until she returned. In the hall she asked Jeffries where her caller was to be found; she was told that he was in the music-room. In front of the door she paused and considered a moment. Not that she was not genuinely grateful for all that Leech had done for her father that afternoon, but out of all that day's experiences one thing clung to her memory more persistently than any other: the audacious admiration in the glance of the man who had spoken to her in the court-room and was now waiting for her. However, she swept into the room and held out her hand. "Miss Wilkinson," said Leech, meeting her half way and holding her hand in his longer than necessary, "I had to come here to explain my part in your father's prosecution. Personally I am not responsible for it. I am a mere machine. Murgatroyd presses the button and we--I start up and go through the day's work, willy nilly. I wanted you to know, as I said before, that I am not responsible." Never once did the man's eyes leave the girl's face; his look was one of bold admiration. He wanted the dainty girl before him, wanted the things that she stood for: the ease, the excitement, the power that great wealth brings. Besides, he was assured of something that Beekman did not even suspect, that Leslie, even, didn't know, and that was that Peter V. Wilkinson had somewhere millions upon millions, and that the man who married Leslie Wilkinson would sip the nectar of the gods from the first tolling of the marriage bell. "I know, Mr. Leech, you merely did your duty," she answered somewhat coldly, lowering her eyes under his frank gaze. "We have intelligence enough for that. We're not altogether narrow here."