that she was groping in the dark, that she was wrapped in a mysterious woof of secrecy, came over her again as it had so often of late.  If Struve talked to that other woman, why wouldn’t he talk to her?  She paused, changing her direction towards Front Street, revolving rapidly in her mind as she went her course of action.  Cherry Malotte believed her to be an actress.  Very well—­she would prove her judgment right.

She found Struve busy in his private office, but he leaped to his feet on her entrance and came forward, offering her a chair.

“Good-morning, Miss Helen.  You have a fine color, considering the night you passed.  The Judge told me all about the affair; and let me state that you’re the pluckiest girl I know.”

She smiled grimly at the thought of what made her cheeks glow, and languidly loosened the buttons of her jacket.

“I suppose you’re very busy, you lawyer man?” she inquired.

“Yes—­but not too busy to attend to anything you want.”

“Oh, I didn’t come on business,” she said, lightly.  “I was out walking and merely sauntered in.”

“Well, I appreciate that all the more,” he said, in an altered tone, twisting his chair about.  “I’m more than delighted.”  She judged she was getting on well from the way his professionalism had dropped off.

“Yes, I get tired of talking to uncle and Mr. McNamara.  They treat me as though I were a little girl.”

“When do you take the fatal step?”

“What step do you mean?”

“Your marriage.  When does it occur?  You needn’t hesitate,” he added.  “McNamara told we about it a month ago.”

He felt his throat gingerly at the thought, but his eyes brightened when she answered, lightly: 

“I think you are mistaken.  He must have been joking.”

For some time she led him on adroitly, talking of many things, in a way to make him wonder at her new and flippant humor.  He had never dreamed she could be like this, so tantalizingly close to familiarity, and yet so maddeningly aloof and distant.  He grew bolder in his speech.

“How are things going with us?” she questioned, as his warmth grew pronounced.  “Uncle won’t talk and Mr. McNamara is as close-mouthed as can be, lately.”

He looked at her quickly.  “In what respect?”

She summoned up her courage and walked past the ragged edge of uncertainty.

“Now, don’t you try to keep me in short dresses, too.  It’s getting wearisome.  I’ve done my part and I want to know what the rest of you are doing.”  She was prepared for any answer.

“What do you want to know?” he asked, cautiously.

“Everything.  Don’t you think I can hear what people are saying?”

“Oh, that’s it!  Well, don’t you pay any attention to what people say.”

She recognized her mistake and continued, hurriedly: 

“Why shouldn’t I?  Aren’t we all in this together?  I object to being used and then discarded.  I think I’m entitled to know how the scheme is working.  Don’t you think I can keep my mouth shut?”