"You are acting in this matter simply as Harrowby's friend?" she asked.
"Simply as his friend."
"And—so far—only you know of my—er—ex-husband?"
"Only I know of him," smiled Minot. The smile died from his face. For he saw bright tears on the long lashes of the Gaiety lady. She leaned close.
"Mr. Minot," she said, "it is I who need a friend. Not Harrowby. I am here in a strange country—without funds—alone. Helpless. Mr. Minot. You could not be so cruel."
"I—I—I'm sorry," said Minot uncomfortably.
The lady was an actress, and she acted now, beautifully.
"I—I feel so desolate," she moaned, dabbing daintily at her eyes. "You will help me. It can not be I am mistaken in you. I thought—did I imagine it—this morning when I sang for you—you liked me—just a little?"
Nervously Minot rose from his chair and stood looking down at her. He tried to answer, but his voice seemed lost.
