“Her name,” he said huskily, “was Elsie Welcome. She ran away. Her father had beaten her. On the night she left the father died. We were to have been married. I learned that she had come to Chicago with this man—Martin Druce. I followed her. For days I have tramped the streets. Today I caught a glimpse of Druce as he entered an elevator in this building. I had just reached here when I lost sight of him.”
The door behind him opened slowly. Miss Masters looked up to see a gray haired woman enter. She wore a waist and skirt of dead black with a little old fashioned black bonnet. Her face was sweet with motherliness, but drawn with sorrow and exhaustion.
“Harvey,” she said.
Harvey turned and hurried to her side.
“I saw you come in here, Harvey,” the woman went on, “so I followed. I hope we’re not intruding Miss—”
“Masters is my name,” responded the stenographer quickly.
“This is the girl’s mother,” said Harvey. “This is Mrs. Martha Welcome.”
Miss Masters hastened to bring another chair.
“And your daughter,” she asked quickly, “have you—”
“I—I don’t think there was anything wrong in Elsie’s going away,” interrupted Mrs. Welcome. “She wasn’t happy and her father—”