Kent refrained from looking at her, but the blood crept darkly into his
tanned cheeks. Evidently she "had it in for him," but he could not see why.
He wondered swiftly if she blamed him for Manley's condition.

Fleetwood suddenly sat up, spilling the handkerchief to the floor. When
Valeria essayed to push him back he put her hand gently away. He rose and
came over to Kent.

"Is this straight goods?" he demanded. "Why don't you stop it?"

"Fred De Garmo's running this show. My influence wouldn't go as far--"

Fleetwood turned to the girl, and his manner was masterful. "I'm going out
with Kent--oh, Val, this is Mr. Burnett. Kent, Miss Peyson. I forgot you
two aren't acquainted."

From Valeria's manner, they were in no danger of becoming friends. Her
acknowledgment was barely perceptible. Kent bowed stiffly.

"I'm going to see about this, Val," continued Fleetwood. "Oh, my head's
better--a lot better, really. Maybe we'd better leave town--"

"If your head is better, I don't see why we need run away from a lot of
silly noise," Valeria interposed, with merciless logic. "They'll think
we're awful cowards."

"Well, I'll try and find out--I won't be gone a minute, dear." After that
word, spoken before another, he appeared to be in great haste, and pushed
Kent rather unceremoniously through the door. In the dining room, Kent
diplomatically included the landlady in the conference, by a gesture of