“Well, hang it, what do you think I ought to do?” “I think you ought to marry her if you’re going to keep her here.” “Suppose she doesn’t mind the unconventionality of it?” “All women mind. No woman, at heart, is unconventional, Cleves.” “She—she seems to agree with me that she ought to stay here.... Besides, she has no money, no relatives, no friends in America——” “All the more tragic. If you really believe it to be your duty to keep her here where you can look after her bodily safety, then the other obligation is still heavier. And there may come a day when Miss Norne will wish that you had been less conscientious concerning the safety of her pretty throat.... For the knife of the Yezidee is swifter and less cruel than the tongue that slays with a smile.... And this young girl has many years to live, after this business of Bolshevism is dead and forgotten in our Republic.” “Recklow!” “Yes?” “You think I might dare try to find a room somewhere else for her and let her take her chances? _Do_ you?” “It’s your affair.” “I know—hang it! I know it’s my affair. I’ve unintentionally made it so. But can’t you tell me what I ought to do?” “I can’t.” “What would _you_ do?” “Don’t ask me,” returned Recklow, sharply. “If you’re not man enough to come to a decision you may turn her over to me.” Cleves flushed brightly. “Do you think _you_ are old enough to take my job and avoid scandal?” Recklow’s cold eyes rested on him: “If you like,” he said, “I’ll assume your various kinds of personal responsibility toward Miss Norne.” Cleve’s visage burned. “I’ll shoulder my own burdens,” he retorted. “Sure. I knew you would.” And Recklow smiled and held out his hand. Cleves took it without cordiality. Standing so, Recklow, still smiling, said: “What a rotten deal that child has had—is having. Her father and mother were fine people. Did you ever hear of Dr. Norne?” “She mentioned him once.” “They were up-State people of most excellent antecedents and no money. “Dr. Norne was our Vice-Consul at Yarkand in the province of Sin Kiang. All he had was his salary, and he lost that and his post when the administration changed. Then he went into the spice trade. “Some Jew syndicate here sent him up the Yarkand River to see what could be done about jade and gold concessions. He was on that business when the tragedy happened. The Kalmuks and Khirghiz were responsible, under Yezidee instigation. And there you are:—and here is his child, Cleves—back, by some miracle, from that flowering hell called Yian, believing in her heart that she really lost her soul there in the temple. And now, here in her own native land, she is exposed to actual and hourly danger of assassination.... Poor kid!... Did you ever hear of a rottener deal, Cleves?” Their hands had remained clasped while Recklow was speaking. He spoke again, clearly, amiably: