Her Forbidden Knight Read Online Free Page A

her, but was also talking about her.
    On entering the billiard room with Sherman he had found the others waiting. Two or three other games were in progress, and the room was filled with men and smoke, the clicking of balls, and the clinking of glasses. Dumain was sitting on a billiard table to preserve their claim to its use.
    “Come on!” called Dougherty; “get a cue!”
    Knowlton took one from a rack, tested its weight, and chalked it.
    “How do we play?” he asked.
    “You and Dougherty, Dumain and I,” said Driscoll. “Sherman’s out.”
    The game proceeded. They had run through the first frame and begun on the second before Knowlton found opportunity to put his question.
    “Who is she?” he said to Dougherty.
    Dougherty stared at him.
    “Who?”
    “The girl at the telegraph desk.”
    “None of your business,” said the ex-prizefighter.
    “Why,” said Knowlton, surprised at his bruskness, “I meant no offense, I’m sure.”
    “That’s all right,” said Dougherty, “but we don’t allow anybody to talk about Miss Williams who doesn’t know her. Perhaps you’ll have that honor—some day.”
    “Your shot, Knowlton!” called Driscoll.
    Knowlton made a try at a cushion-carrom and missed badly. Dumain, who followed, nursed the balls into a corner and seemed in for a run.
    “So her name is Miss Williams?” said Knowlton, returning to Dougherty.
    Dougherty turned on him sharply.
    “See here,” he said, “I told you not to talk about her.”
    “Who’s talking about her? I merely asked her name. Is that an insult?”
    “Perhaps not,” Dougherty admitted. “But it’s too familiar. And I don’t like your tone.”
    Knowlton assured him that if he read anything but the deepest respect in his tone he was mistaken. This somewhat mollified Dougherty, and he ended by reciting the tale of the Erring Knights.
    “I fancied it was something like that,” said Knowlton when he had finished. “And she appears to be all you say she is. But it is really rather amusing. A Broadway gang acting chaperon for a pretty girl! Who would believe it?”
    “It’s the hardest job I ever had,” said Dougherty. “See this nose? I got that from a guy that was making eyes at her just the other day—Driscoll yonder. He’s one of us now.”
    “And how may one be elected a member of this club?”
    “Nothing doing. We’re full up.”
    “But I want to join. Really—I’m serious about it. To tell the truth”—Knowlton hesitated—“it’s been such a deuce of a time since I’ve done anything really decent that the idea appeals to me. How about it?”
    “Oh, stick round if you want to,” said Dougherty. “If you feel that way about it, I have no objections. And anytime you want to know—”
    “Your shot, Dougherty,” called Dumain. “I just ran thirty-two. Zat win zee game. You haven’t got a chance.”
    And they hadn’t. Driscoll completed the frame in the next inning, and the game was ended.
    “Enough!” said Dougherty. “Dumain ought to be ashamed of himself. He’s a blooming professional. It’s time to eat, anyway. Come on.”
    The others trooped out in a body, while Knowlton remained behind to pay for the game. He had just pocketed his change and was turning to follow, when he heard his name called. At his elbow was Billy Sherman, who had remained seated in a corner while the others were playing.
    “Did you call me?” asked Knowlton.
    “Yes,” said Sherman. “I want a word with you—alone.”
    His eyes glittered with hostility and with a certain air of command as he turned to leave the room with a gesture to Knowlton to follow.
    Knowlton appeared surprised, but obeyed with a shrug of the shoulders. “Another of Miss Williams’s chaperons,” he thought. “Jove, they’re worse than a pack of women!”
    Sherman led the way down the hall, round a corner, and into a small room containing a table or two, some chairs, and a sofa—evidently a private parlor. When Knowlton had followed him