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Cyngia. The chauffeur reached back and threw open the door and Rimrock leapt quickly out, but Mrs. Hardesty did not follow. She sat in the half-darkness, composing her hair and working swiftly to cover the traces of tears; and when she stepped out she was calm. "Excuse me," she whispered as he led her towards the door, "I didn't mean what I said.
"Oh, Rimrock!" she gasped, "I've had such a blow won't you take me back to my rooms? Oh, I can't explain it, but Whitney H. Stoddard is trying to force me to give up my stock! That Tecolote stock " "Here, get into this taxi!" said Rimrock on the instant, "now where do you want to go?" "To the St. Cyngia on Ninety-fifth Street and hurry!" she commanded; and the chauffeur slammed the door.
She went with him everywhere, but the recherché suppers were almost a thing of the past. It was the opera now, and the gayest restaurants, and dinners where they met distinguished guests; but at the entrance of the St. Cyngia, when the graven-faced doorman opened the door to let her pass, she had acquired a way of giving Rimrock her hand without asking if he wouldn't come in.
She was an elusive woman, like another that he knew; but at times she startled him, too. Those times were mostly on the rare occasions when she invited him to supper at her rooms. These were at the St. Cyngia, not far from the Waldorf, a full suite with two servants to attend. On his first formal call Rimrock had been taken aback by the wealth and luxury displayed.
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