little I know?"

"Yes," Burke agreed promptly, with an encouraging smile. And for
a good measure of reassurance, he added as one might to an
alarmed child: "No one is going to hurt you, young lady."

"Well, then, you see, it was this way," began the brisk
explanation. "Mr. Gilder was calling on me one afternoon, and he
said to me then that he knew a very charming young woman,
who----"

Here the speech ended abruptly, and once again the handkerchief
was brought into play as the sobbing broke forth with increased
violence. Presently, the girl's voice rose in a wail.

"Oh, this is dreadful--dreadful!" In the final word, the wail
broke to a moan.

Burke felt himself vaguely guilty as the cause of such suffering
on the part of one so young, so fair, so innocent. As a culprit,
he sought his best to afford a measure of soothing for this grief
that had had its source in his performance of duty.

"That's all right, little lady," he urged in a voice as nearly
mellifluous as he could contrive with its mighty volume. "That's
all right. I have to keep on telling you. Nobody's going to
hurt you--not a little bit. Believe me! Why, nobody ever would
want to hurt you!"

But his well-meant attempt to assuage the stricken creature's wo