For a few seconds Jocelyn Thew was certainly taken aback. His little start,
his look of blank astonishment, were coupled with a certain loss of poise
which Crawshay had been quick to note. But, after all, the interlude was
brief enough.

"Exactly what does this mean, Nora?" he demanded.

Her vivid brown eyes were fastened upon his face, eager to understand his
attitude, a little defiant, a little appealing. There was nothing to be
gathered from his expression, however. After that first moment he was
entirely himself--well-mannered, unemotional, cold.

"I came over on the _Baltic_," she explained, "I guessed I'd find you here.
Fourteenth Street was getting a little sultry. The old man hopped it to San
Francisco the day you left."

"Sit down," he invited.

They found places on a lounge and were served with cocktails. The girl
sipped hers disapprovingly.

"Rum stuff, this," she declared. "I guess I'll have to get my shaker out."

"You are staying here, then?" he enquired.

"Why not?" she replied, with a faint note of truculence in her tone. "You
know I'm not short of money, and I guessed it was where I should find you."