he--starved. He detested--abominated such luxuries! And thus nerved he
retorted, borrowing some of her imperiousness--

"Do you deny, madam, that for the past two hours you've been sitting
on the sofa of the end room of the third floor of No. 216, Market
Street, flirting with the Rev. J.T. Calthorpe, whom you call
'Mickey-moo'; that you gave him a photo you had taken at Bell's Studio
in Clay Street, specially for him; that you gave him five greenbacks
to the value of one hundred and fifty dollars, and that you've planned
a moonlight promenade with him to-morrow, when your husband will be in
Denver?"

"Don't talk so loud," the lady said in a low voice. "Walk along with
me a little and then we shan't be noticed. I see you do know a good
deal--how, I can't imagine, unless you were hidden somewhere in the
room. Who has employed you to watch me?"

"That, madam, I can't say," Kelson truthfully responded.

"And I can't think," the lady said, "unless it is some woman enemy.
But, after all, you can't do much since you hold no proofs--your word
alone will count for nothing."

"Ah, but I have strong corroborative evidence," Kelson retorted. "I
have the testimony of at least two other people who know quite as much
as I do."

"Adventurers like yourself," the lady sneered. "My husband would
neither believe you nor your friends."