For a moment the girl and the man stood in silence, and then, as though suddenly conscious of her presence, Winthrop turned and smiled. The girl did not answer his smile. From under the shadow of the picture hat and the ostrich feathers her eyes regarded him searchingly, watchfully. For the first time, Winthrop had the chance to observe her. He saw that she was very young, that her clothes cruelly disguised her, that she was only a child masquerading as a brigand, that her face was distractingly lovely. Having noted this, the fact that she had driven several grown men to abuse and vituperation struck him as being extremely humorous; nor did he try to conceal his amusement. But the watchfulness in the eyes of the girl did not relax. “I’m afraid I interfered with your seance,” said the District Attorney. The girl regarded him warily, like a fencer fixing her eyes on those of her opponent. There was a pause which lasted so long that had the silence continued it would have been rude. “Well,” the girl returned at last, timidly, “that’s what the city expects you to do, is it not?” Winthrop laughed. “How did you know who I was?” he asked, and then added quickly, “Of course, you’re a mind reader.” For the first time the girl smiled. Winthrop found it a charming smile, wistful and confiding. “I don’t have to ask the spirit world,” she said, “to tell me who is District Attorney of New York.” “Yes,” said the District Attorney; “yes, I suppose you have to be pretty well acquainted with some of the laws--those about mediums?” “If you knew as much about other laws,” began Vera, “as I do about the law--” She broke off and again smiled upon him. “Then you probably know,” said Winthrop, “that what our excited friend said to you just now is legally quite true?” The smile passed from the face of the girl. She looked at the young man with fine disdain, as a great lady might reprove with a glance the man who snapped a camera at her. “Yes?” she asked. “Well, what are you going to do about it--arrest me?” Mocking him, in a burlesque of melodrama, she held out her arms. “Don’t put the handcuffs on me,” she begged. Winthrop found her impudence amusing; and, with the charm of her novelty, he was conscious of a growing conviction that, somewhere, they had met before; that already at a crisis she had come into his life. “I won’t arrest you,” he said with a puzzled smile, “on one condition.” “Ah!” mocked Vera; “he is generous.” “And the condition is,” Winthrop went on seriously, “that you tell me where we met before?” The girl’s expression became instantly mask-like. To learn if he suspected where it was that they had met, she searched his face quickly. She was reassured that of the event he had no real recollection. “That’s rather difficult, isn’t it,” she continued lightly, “when you consider I’ve been giving exhibitions of mind readings for the last six weeks on Broadway, and in the homes of people you probably know?”