Sunday Weeks. That's legitimate, isn't it? Sunday's a public character
now, you know. Every one talks about her. So why shouldn't you, who know
her best?"

It was the voice of the siren. Decatur Brown should have recognized it
as such. But the breezy young person was so plausible, she bubbled with
such enthusiasm for his heroine, that in the end he yielded. He talked
of Sunday Weeks. And such talk!

Obviously the "lady journalist" had come all primed with the rather
shop-worn theory that the Sunday Weeks who figured as the heroine of
_The Insurgent_ must be a real personage, a young woman in whom Decatur
Brown took more than a literary interest. Possibly the cards were ready
to be sent out.

Had she put these queries point-blank, he would have denied them
definitely and emphatically, and there would have been an end. But she
was far too clever for that. She plied him with sly hints and deft
insinuation. Then, when he began to scent her purpose, she took another
tack. "Did he really admire women of the Sunday Weeks type? Did he
honestly think that the unconventional, wilful, whimsical Sunday, while
perfectly charming in the unmarried state, could be tamed to matrimony?
Was he willing to have his ideal of womanhood judged by this
disturbingly fascinating creature of the 'sober gray eyes and piquant
chin'?"

Naturally he felt called upon to endorse his heroine, to defend her.
Loyalty to his art demanded that much. Then, too, there recurred to him
thoughts of Jane Temple. He could truthfully say that Sunday was a
wholly imaginative character, that she had no "original." And yet