marry Hoberg now, although last night, even if she had wanted to, she could not have. What was different now? Ket had killed—that is, Hoberg believed that Ket had killed and for her.
She thought of the people on the elevated poring over her picture, although they gazed at herself in only the usual way. But if they had recognized her, what a thrill she would have given them!
Such a thrill she had been supplying to Hoberg today! The glamour of the crime committed, supposedly for her, had made her different and more desirable to Hoberg; because Adele had been killed, Joan Daisy Royle had ceased to be merely a good-looking girl who worked in his office and had become capable of exciting him to a new sensation; and she might capitalize that sensation to maneuver him into marriage, mamma said.
Daisy walked away and mechanically set to making mamma's bed, while trying not to think with disgust of mamma.
"Where's Dads?" she asked, to change the subject, when mamma followed her into the bedroom.
"He's with Mr. Hoberg, trying to find you."
And, thought Daisy miserably, undoubtedly Dads was borrowing money from Hoberg. Dads would miss no such chance as the gods had given him to-day. But never would he expect her to redeem his debt; nor, for all of Hoberg's money, would Dads tell her to marry. No; Dads disgraced himself and her only in other ways.
Mamma undressed and flopped down upon the bed.
"Rub my back now, Daisy," she bid. 'Rub my back good. I've had a terrible hard day. . . . That's a right nice looking man in the picture with you. Assistant State's Attorney Clarke, the paper calls him. Mr. Hoberg went to see him and told him what's what. . . .
