"but the door was open and there was no one outside to receive me." This was quite true. The butler was assisting the maid in the kitchen in the preparations for the dinner. Carmelita had risen, the bills and her father's letter clutched in her hand. She smiled a greeting.
He did not attempt to conceal his knowledge of what the papers in her hand meant. "Are you in trouble, Carmelita?" he asked quietly.
Her pride struggled with her desire to confide in some one. Then, "Yes. Here—read it." And she handed him her father's letter, turning her face away to conceal her concern. He scanned the note gravely.
"There is little hope there," he agreed, handing the letter back. "But I cannot endure seeing you in trouble. Will you not let me help you? I can lend you—"
"No, no—please," she cried in protest. He had started to draw his check book from his pocket and he now replaced it with a's hrug of his shoulders. She did not see the look of thwarted satisfaction that clouded his face at her refusal. He was like a cat who is about to pounce upon a helpless canary and the bird suddenly flies away.
"You have not been fortunate at roulette either, have you?" he asked sympathetically.
"No," she admitted. "Hayden has been
