"First, here is a little history of your career. You were born in Minneapolis, June 16, 188-. At the age of sixteen you went to New York City, where you entered the theatrical profession. For some years you were on the vaudeville stage, playing occasionally in New York, but mostly on the road. Your stage name was Rosa Montagu. You left the profession about three years ago, and have been engaged in this place as manicure for a little less than two years. You resumed the name of Myrtle Mowbray, which as far as I can make out is your own, on leaving the stage, but you were married, last September, under your stage name. Here is a copy of your marriage lines, sworn to by the Minneapolis License Bureau. Here is a photograph of you as Rosa Montagu...." "Suppose you let me finish manicuring your hands, Mr. Wimbourne." James replaced the papers in his pocket and his hand on the glass-topped table, and professional duties were resumed. They continued in silence for some time; neither party really had much to say now. It occurred to James that even now she might be trying to take him in by her indifference, to "bluff" him; but a careful study of her face dispelled the idea. He admired her nerve now no less than before.
"Are you satisfied, Miss Mowbray?" he asked at length.
"No. I'm beaten, though." James liked the reply immensely; liked, also, the manner in which it was given—hardly betraying anything more than good-humored disgust.
"When can I see you again to-day or to-morrow?" he asked again after a short pause. "There will be papers to sign, and that sort of thing."
"Is it possible that Mr. Raynham sent you out without a written statement for me to sign in your pocket?" she rejoined, looking fearlessly up at him.
"No—that is—yes, he did." Of course he had not, but James was already planning a little coup of his own not included in Mr. Raynham's arrangements.
"Well, could you come back here this evening? Toward ten? We close then, on Saturdays."
"Very well."
Both were silent for some time. At last, when the manicuring was almost completed, James said with a sudden burst of friendly curiosity:
"Honestly, Miss Mowbray, why did you do it? Get married to him first, I mean."