"My father was shot the week before I was born," she began, composing her features. "Mother was arrested on suspicion; I was born in jail...." "Wait," he said, with an appreciative nod. "I don't want a romance!" She laughed with some confusion. "What a pity! It was such a good start." "I want the truth--not one of a dozen stories you've made up!" She eyed the tip of her red slipper, raising it slightly. "Some day I'll tell you," she said finally. "Next question!" "Where in the world did you pick up the name?" "Pick up? What do you mean?" "The 'Doré.' It wasn't your own!" "Oh, I found it," she said, turning away hastily, as if afraid he might have guessed. That was one thing she could never tell him, no matter where future confidences might lead her. It had, in truth, been the suggestion of a certain Josh Nebbins, press-agent for a local theater, who had once adored her fatuously--one of those forgotten minor incidents, lost in the impenetrable mists of an outlived beginning, an indiscretion that she wished to forget, an impossible admirer of the days when her taste had not been cultivated. Luckily, in this moment of her confusion the telephone saved her. "Shall I close my ears?" he said instantly. "The idea! Do you think I haven't learned how to telephone?" she said indignantly. "See how much you can gather from it!" He waited, availing himself of her permission to listen, seeking in vain to patch sense in the guarded replies that came to him: "I know who it is. Go ahead.... No, not alone--but that makes no difference.... Well, I thought it was time! Engaged to-night!... You saw me?... To-day--this afternoon.... 'Deed I am!... Why not? Lovely!... I'm sorry!... When?... Yes!... Oh, terribly exciting!..." He smiled, and admitting defeat, continued his examination of the room. Keen amateur of the thousandfold subterranean currents of the city, none interested him more than the adventurous life of the Salamanders, with their extraordinary contrasts of wealth and poverty. He had known them by the dozens, and yet each was a new problem. Was it possible that she could experience no temptation before the opportunities of sudden wealth, so boldly enticing, or did she not realize what such opportunities could mean? The interview interested him hugely. He felt himself master of the situation, enjoying the sudden turns of his intimate knowledge that kept her on the defensive--keen enough to know the advantage, with a woman, of establishing an instant superiority. "Well?" she said, returning and looking at him with a teasing glance. "I'll admit that you've learned to telephone," he said appreciatively. "What were you planning--how best to elope?" "You didn't guess who it was?" "Sassoon?" "No; Mr. Harrigan Blood." "H'm! I should like to have heard--" The telephone interrupted again, but this time, responding in an assumed voice, she cut it off abruptly, swinging back to her perch on the trunk.