"She is rather blue and depressed," answered Barbara. "We are both
feeling the reaction from the shock of Jimmie Turnbull's tragic
death. You must forgive me if I am a bore; I am not good company
to-night."

The arrival of the head waiter at their table interrupted Clymer's
reply.

"This gentleman desires to speak to you a moment, Miss McIntyre,"
he said, and indicated a young man in a sack suit standing just back
of him.

"I'm Parker of the Post," the reporter introduced himself with a bow
which included Clymer. "May I sit down?" laying his hand on the back
of Mrs. Brewster's vacant chair.

"Surely; and won't you have an ice?" Barbara's hospitable instincts
were aroused. "Here, waiter -"

"No, thanks; I haven't time," protested Parker, slipping into the
chair. "I just came from your house, Miss McIntyre; the butler said
I might find you here, and as it was rather important, I took the
liberty of introducing myself. We plan to run a story, featuring
the dangers of masquerading in society, and of course it hinges on
the death of Mr. Turnbull. I'm sorry" - he apologized as he saw
Barbara wince. "I realize the topic is one to make you feel badly;
but I promise to ask only few questions." His smile was very
engaging and Barbara's resentment receded somewhat.

"What are they?" she asked.