a hand in the game. Why should the porter have a friend at the Belle Vue? Why should that friend call in to see him soon after Beresford had handed the man his letters to post? Why should the eyes of the man from the Belle Vue happen to fall upon Lola's letter, and, above all, why had he offered to take it back with him? Again, why had Lola given up her stay in Surrey and motored back to London? Then there was He jumped up and began to pace the room.
"Don't you see what I am doing?" She rose and snuggled into the corner of the chair he had just left.
"What you are doing?" he repeated, stopping in front of her.
"Yes," she faltered. "I'm—I'm throwing myself at your head and—and" she flashed him a tremulous glance, "and you won't help me, not a little bit," she drew in her lower lip, then a moment after, covering her face with her hands, she huddled up in the corner of the chair.
In an instant Beresford was on his knees beside her.
"My darling; oh my dear!" he murmured, striving to pull away her hands. "You know, you must know—you do understand, don't you? Can't you see how impossible it is, how—how" he stopped miserably.
"You've—you've compromised me and now you humiliate me," she sobbed, her hands still shielding her face.
"My dear—Rain-Girl—Lola—please don't"
