from her face, that even his abuse could not thrust aside her composure.
"I 'm not a lobster palace floater," she quietly replied. "And you know it."
"Then what are you?" he demanded.
"I 'm a confidential agent of the Treasury Department," was her quiet-toned answer.
"Oho!" cried Blake. "So that 's why we 've grown so high and mighty!"
The woman sank into the chair beside which she had been standing. She seemed impervious to his mockery.
"What do you want me for?" she asked, and the quick directness of her question implied not so much that time was being wasted on side, issues as that he was cruelly and unnecessarily demeaning himself in her eyes.
It was then that Blake swung about, as though he, too, were anxious to sweep aside the trivialities that stood between him and his end, as though he, too, were conscious of the ignominy of his own position.
"You know where I 've been and what I 've been doing!" he suddenly cried out.
