“Yes, he has,” she blurted, with a catch in her throat.
“Did he tell you who he was?”
He measured out each word and conveyed the sense. “Did he tell you who he pretended to be?”
“Yes,” the girl responded, scarcely above a whisper.
He took her by the shoulders and turned her squarely toward him, looking down into her face with frowning eyes.
“Now, Helen, I want you to tell me the truth––the truth, you understand? I shall know it even if you don’t. Who did he say he was?”
A feeling of repugnance took possession of the girl and she shook herself free and stood back. Her body had warmed into life again and she looked steadily into his eyes as she answered:
“Travers Gladwin!”
He needed all his great bulk of flesh and steel-fibred nerve to fend off this shock. Not the remotest fancy had crossed his mind that Travers Gladwin might be in New York. It was with a palpably forced laugh that he ejaculated: