“I told you that I could not give you her address,” she coldly replied, “but,” a cunning thought coming to her, “if you will oblige me I might try and ascertain it for you.” “All right,” the man answered briskly, a shrewd twinkle in his small eyes. “When you find out, just say on a postal where I can meet you—my name is W. H. Brown, and I’m stopping at the Howard—and we’ll exchange confidences.” Miss Winthrop flushed to her brows at this cool proposition. She, one of New York’s darling “four hundred,” asked to make an engagement at the Howard with such a creature! She could have smitten him in the face for daring to propose such a thing, and if a look could have annihilated him, the angry glance which she shot at him would have withered him at once. His _sang froid_, his presumption, his insolence, astounded her. Still she was very curious regarding the mystery which surrounded Salome, so she put a curb upon her rage and said earnestly: “Tell me one thing—there is some mystery—something connected with the girl that is not quite open and above board, isn’t there?” “Well, miss, how strange that you should have imagined that!” the man began, a broad grin on his face, an irritating drawl in his tone. “She, perhaps, ran away from her home for some reason, and has been living under the assumed name of Howland since her flight,” Evelyn went on, without appearing to heed him, and determined to have her say out. He laughed mockingly. “You’re pretty keen, miss, but guessing at a question isn’t the safest way to settle it,” he retorted. “I always like to oblige a lady, and particularly one so handsome and clever as you appear to be; but I guess we’ll stick to the first proposition. When I get the girl’s address, I’ll shell out about the mystery, as you put it. Remember, W. H. Brown, Howard House. I’m going to be there for the next three weeks.” He turned abruptly on his heel as he ceased speaking and walked away, leaving Evelyn Winthrop crimson with mortification, anger, and baffled curiosity. “Does the vulgar creature imagine that I would stoop to make an appointment with him?” she muttered wrathfully, but without remembering that she had already tried to bribe him to give her the information she desired. “However,” she added, with a malicious smile, “I have learned enough to convince me that there is some disgraceful mystery connected with Salome. I am going directly home to acquaint mamma with what I have heard and seen, and she will decide what will be best to do about it. If that girl is some low impostor, as I fear, we must manage some way to get rid of her.” CHAPTER XII. AN EXPLANATION DEMANDED. Miss Winthrop did not delay even long enough to make her purchases, but turned about and went home to report her news to her mother. She found madam in her own room, and learned that Salome had returned about half an hour before, and gone directly to her own boudoir.