She was on the point of an indignant answer, but suddenly checked herself. She gave the address, but in a sharp muffled tone, boiling with anger within, with a quick resolve to punish him later. "When are you in?" Before she could answer, Harrigan Blood pushed forward, determined and insolent. "Too late, Sassoon, my boy; nothing here for you!" "I fail to understand you," said Sassoon. "Don't you? Well, I'll make it plainer!" "You'll kindly not interfere." "And I'll thank you not to trespass!" "What?" "Don't trespass!" Sassoon responded angrily; Harrigan Blood retorted with equal heat. In a moment the room was in an uproar. Doré seized the confusion of the hubbub to slip from the group which rushed in to separate these two men whom a glance from a little Salamander had turned back into the raw. She went quickly, frightened by the sounds of anger and the increasing uproar, flung into her furs, and stole toward the door. All at once it opened before her, and in the hall was Lindaberry, roguishly ambushed. "No, no--not so fast!" he cried. He flung out his arm, barring the way. For a moment she was frightened, seeing what was in his eyes, hearing the tumult in the salon behind. Then, without drawing back, she raised her hand gently, and put his arm away. "Please, Mr. Lindaberry, protect me! I need it! I ought not to be here." "What?" he said, staring at her. "I'm a crazy little fool!" she said frantically. "Help me to get away!" "Crazy little child!" he said, after staring a moment as if suddenly recognizing her. "Get away, then--quickly!" She felt no more resentment, only a great pity, such as one feels before a magnificent ruin. She wished to stop to speak to him--but she was afraid. "Thank you," she said, with a look that appealed to him not to judge her. "I am crazy--out of my mind! Come and see me--do!" CHAPTER IV The faithful Stacey was below, lounging at the door of the grill-room, as she came tripping down, the sensation of escape sparkling on her delicate features. She was so delighted at the effect he had achieved for her that she gave him an affectionate squeeze of the arm. "Stacey, you're a darling! When the footman announced 'Miss Baxter's car' you could have heard a pin drop among the squillionairesses!" Stacey had been told, and dutifully believed, that the luncheon was a heavy affair, very formal, very correct. "I say, you didn't bore yourself, did you?" he said, noticing the excitement still on her cheeks. "No, no!" "Fifth Avenue, or Broadway?" "Fifth first." "Bundle up; it's turning cold!" The next moment the car had found a wedge in the avenue, and Stacey, solicitous, relapsed into gratifying silence.