the alarmed glance she gave us, and one hand automatically smoothed back the chestnut hair over her ear. Vance adjusted his monocle.
"You really should wear Alice blue, Barton," he advised her seriously. "Much more becoming than cerise to your olive complexion."
The girl's apprehensiveness relaxed, and she gave Vance a puzzled, kittenish look.
"But what I particularly wanted you to come here for," he went on, "was to ask you if Mr. Greene has ever kissed you."
"Which—Mr. Greene?" she stammered, completely disconcerted.
Chester had, at Vance's question, jerked himself erect in his chair and started to splutter an irate objection. But articulation failed him, and he turned to Markham with speechless indignation.
The corners of Vance's mouth twitched. "It really doesn't matter, Barton," he said quickly.
"Aren't you going to ask me any questions about—what happened last night?" the girl asked, with obvious disappointment.
"Oh! Do you know anything about what happened?"
"Why, no," she admitted. "I was asleep"
"Exactly. Therefore, I sha'n't bother you with questions." He dismissed her good-naturedly.
"Damn it, Markham, I protest!" cried Greene, when Barton had left us. "I call this—this gentleman's levity rotten-bad taste—damme if I don't!"
Markham, too, was annoyed at the frivolous line of interrogation Vance had taken.
"I can't see what's to be gained by such futile
