I have neither money, friends, nor home.

The newspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The banks have seized everything." She continued her story.

Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; at others, abject in her misery.

She seemed to pass through the whole gamut of the passions.
And all this while it ran through Warrington's head--"What a theme for a play! What a voice!" He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he do for her other than offer her cold sympathy?
He was ill at ease in the face of this peculiar tragedy.
All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on her lips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintry day.

Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous, reverberating.
Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair.
"I beg your pardon!" he said.
The girl sat down before a small writing-table.