"You mean," retorted the man, hopelessly and reproachfully, "that I will
read it in the Sunday papers."

Before the editor could answer they heard the door leading into the
apartment open and close, and some one stepping quickly across the hall
to the room in which they stood. The entrance to the room was hung with
a portière, and as the three men paused in silence this portière was
pushed back, and a young lady stood in the doorway, holding the curtains
apart with her two hands. She was smiling, and the smile lighted a face
that was inexpressibly bright and honest and true. Aram's face had been
lowered, but the eyes of the other two men were staring wide open
towards the unexpected figure, which seemed to bring a taste of fresh
pure air into the feverish atmosphere of the place. The girl stopped
uncertainly when she saw the two strangers, and bowed her head slightly
as the mistress of a house might welcome any one whom she found in her
drawing-room. She was entirely above and apart from her surroundings. It
was not only that she was exceedingly pretty, but that everything about
her, from her attitude to her cloth walking-dress, was significant of
good taste and high breeding.

She paused uncertainly, still smiling, and with her gloved hands holding
back the curtains and looking at Aram with eyes filled with a kind
confidence. She was apparently waiting for him to present his friends.

The editor made a sudden but irrevocable resolve. "If she is only a
chance visitor," he said to himself, "I will still expose him; but if
that woman in the doorway is his wife, I will push Bronson under the
elevated train, and the secret will die with me."

What Bronson's thoughts were he could not know, but he was conscious