feet a toy black Pomeranian lay coiled on the torn bodice of a red dress; and all the room was in disorder, with an indiscriminate litter of hats, gloves, French novels, feather boas, slippers, and fallen blouses or skirts.

The lady of the roses went to the mirror over the untidy mantel piece, and looked at herself, as she answered. "No luck at roulette or trente. But the best of luck outside."

"What, then?"

The girl began to hum, as she powdered her nose with a white glove, lying in a powder box.

"You remember le beau brun?"

"The young man in Paris you made so many enquiries about at Ritz's? Is he here?"

"He is. I've just had lunch with him. Oh, there are lots of things to tell. He is a good boy."

"How, good? You told him we had had losses?"

"I painted a sad picture. He was most sympathetic."

"To what extent?"

"Chere maman! One would think we were vulgar adventuresses. We are not. He respects me, this dear young man, and it is right that he should. I deserve to be respected. You know the fable about the dog who dropped his meat in the water, trying to snap at its reflection? Well, I don't ask strangers for loans. I make my impression. Monsieur Hugh Egerton is my friend—at present. Later, he will be what I choose. And most certainly I shall choose him for a husband. What luck, meeting him again! It is time I settled down."

"They said at Ritz's that he was one of the young millionaires, well known already in America," the fat woman reflected aloud. "It is a good thing that I have brought you up well, Julie, and that you are pretty."

"Yes, it is a good thing that I am pretty," repeated the girl. "We have had many hopes often before, but this seems to be the most promising. I think it is very promising indeed, and I don't mean to let it slip."

She turned her back to the easy chair, and opened the pink bag. As the woman talked on, she secretly counted out the money. There were more than ten thousand francs in mille notes and others of smaller denominations. Quietly she put them away in the top of a travelling box, which she locked. Then she noticed the letter which the child had given her, still lying on the dressing table, with her gloves.

"Here's something from la belle Americaine, upstairs," said she. "A billet doux."

"A dun," exclaimed the woman.

"No doubt. It can be nothing else."

"Well, we can't pay."

"No, we can't pay," said the girl, looking at the locked box.

"Let me see, how much was it she lent?"

"Two hundred francs, I think. We told her we'd give it back in a week. That's nearly a month ago."

"Serve her right for trusting strangers. The saints alone know when she'll see her money again. She shouldn't be so soft hearted. It doesn't pay in these days."

"Neither do we—when we can help it."

They both laughed.

"But when you are Madame—let me see, what was the name of the young monsieur, they told you at the Ritz?"

"Egerton."

"Ah yes. When you are Madame Egerton—"

"Everything will be very different then."

And the girl slipped the key of the box into the little pink bag.