“Call the man who is with you, Miss Moore; I prefer to talk with him,” Mr. Hamlin commanded.  “You do not seem to realize the gravity of what you intend to do.  It will be a mistake for your newspaper to make an enemy of a man in my official position.”

Mr. Hamlin talked for some time to one of the editors of the Washington “News.”  He entreated, threatened and finally made an appeal to him to save his daughter and himself by not making the story public.

“I am afraid we shall have to let the story go, Miss Moore,” the editor remarked regretfully.  “It was a fine piece of news, but we don’t wish to make things too hard for Mr. Hamlin.”  The man turned to go.

“Mr. Hughes,” Marjorie Moore announced, speaking to her editor, “if you do not intend to use this story, which I have worked on so long, in your paper, I warn you, right now, that I shall simply sell it to some other newspaper and take the consequences.  All the papers will not be so careful of Mr. Hamlin’s feelings.”

“Oh, Miss Moore, you would not be so cruel!” Bab cried.

Marjorie Moore turned suddenly on Barbara; “Why shouldn’t I?” she returned.  “Both Harriet Hamlin and Peter Dillon have been hateful and insolent to me ever since I have been making my living in Washington.  I told you I meant to get even with them some day.  Well, this is my chance, and I intend to take it.  Good-bye; there is no reason for me to stay here any longer.”

“Mr. Hamlin, if Miss Moore insists on selling her story on the outside, I cannot see how we would benefit you by failing to print the story,” the editor added.

“Very well,” Mr. Hamlin returned coldly.  But he sank back into his chair and covered his face with his hands.  Harriet’s reputation was ruined, for no one would believe she had not tried deliberately to sell her father’s honor.

But Bab resolved to appeal once more to the newspaper girl.  She ran to Marjorie Moore and put her arm about the newspaper girl’s waist to detain her.  She talked to her in her most winning fashion, with her brown eyes glowing with feeling and her lips trembling with eagerness.

The tears came to Marjorie Moore’s eyes as she listened to Bab’s pleading for Harriet.  But she still obstinately shook her head.

Some one came running down the stairs and Ruth entered the study without heeding the strangers in it.

“Uncle!” she exclaimed in a terrified voice, “Harriet cannot be found!  We have telephoned everywhere for her.  No one has seen her or knows anything about her.  What shall we do?  It is midnight!”

Mr. Hamlin followed Ruth quickly out of the room, forgetting every other consideration in his fear for his daughter.  He looked broken and old.  Was Harriet in some worse peril?

As Marjorie Moore saw Mr. Hamlin go, she turned swiftly to Barbara and kissed her.  “It’s all right, dear,” she said.  “You were right.  Revenge is too little and too mean.  Mr. Hughes has said he will not publish the story, and I shall not sell it anywhere else.  Indeed, I promise that what I know shall never be spoken of outside this room.  Good night.”  Before Barbara could thank her she was gone.