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Nessie in the hotel. "The idea of the fellow writing a note to the girl he has never met!"

"Didn't you?" asked Nessie with a faint smile.

"Yes, but we knew each other in a way—working next door to each other."

"This person works in Irontown."

"That's different," put in the jeweller sharply. "I'm a middle-aged—" He broke off his distasteful sentence to recast it. "I'm a citizen of Irontown and I'm responsible for what I do. You're just a young girl all by yourself in this musty hotel." In the warmth of his speech he somehow broke the invisible rope which bound him to his chair, for he got up and moved toward her. "And it's a shame, you staying in a dump like this, Nessie! And you needn't do it! I've got a place in the country where it's cool. A good place to stay, comfortable. The old Coltrane homestead, if you know where that is. . . ." He rushed on incoherently, passionately, making the middle-aged plea of property. "I bought it ten years ago for its taxes. I thought if I ever did want to marry, I'd have a big old-fashioned manor. . . . Look here, Nessie—"

She got up quickly, frightened at his speech and formidable approach. She put out a hand to ward him off.

"Wait! Stop!" she begged. "Don't talk so loud!"

He dropped to an unsteady undertone. "But I do want you, Nessie! I stand day after day waiting for just a glimpse of you. I want you more than anything on earth! I—I—" The girl's pale crown of hair undid the jeweller's self-control, "Nessie! Good God, you don't hate me!" As he stepped toward her she got quickly behind her stiff green chair with a whitened face.

"Stop! Hush!" she begged in a horrified whisper. "Don't talk so loud; somebody will hear you!"

She stood behind her feeble barricade, her heart pounding so that Belshue could see the pulse in the dimple at the base of her throat. As he approached again she quavered, "Please! Please, stay where you are!"