But don't let Beaton fool you. He's only
a tin-horn sport."
"Then it is the other?"
"Sure; he's the real thing. Not much to look at, maybe, but he fairly
oozes the long green. He's a lawyer."
"Oh, indeed," and Miss Donovan's eyes darkened. She was interested,
now feeling herself on the verge of discovery. "From New York?"
"Sure, maybe you've heard of him? He knew you as soon as Beaton
mentioned your name; he's Patrick Enright of Enright and Dougherty."
Miss Donovan's fingers gripped hard on the footboard of the bed, and
her teeth clinched to keep back a sudden exclamation of surprise. This
was more than she had bargained for, yet the other woman, coolly
watching, in spite of her apparent flippancy, observed no change in the
girl's manner. Apparently the disclosure meant little.
"Enright, you say? No, I think not. He claimed to know me? That is
rather strange. Who did he think I was?"
Miss La Rue bit her lip. She had found her match evidently, but would
strike harder.
"A reporter on the _Star_. Naturally we couldn't help wondering what
you was doing out here.
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