a dressing table, an Empire bed covered with green-figured silk, a
pleasant rug on the floor, and, just as he had gathered an impression
of delightful femininity from these furnishings, the girl turned from
the lamp on the dressing table, and he saw--not Caroline Smith, but a
bronze-haired beauty, as different from Bill Gregg's lady as day is
from night.




Chapter Eleven


_A Cross-Examination_

He was conscious then only of green-blue eyes, very wide, very bright,
and lips that parted on a word and froze there in silence. The heart
of Ronicky Doone leaped with joy; he had passed the crisis in safety.
She had not cried out.

"You're not--" he had said in the first moment.

"I am not who?" asked the girl with amazing steadiness. But he saw her
hand go back to the dressing table and open, with incredible deftness
and speed, the little top drawer behind her.

"Don't do that!" said Ronicky softly, but sharply. "Keep your hand off
that table, lady, if you don't mind."

She hesitated a fraction of a second. In that moment she seemed to see