"Don't!" pleaded Athalie. "Oh, Doris, I don't see why you can't find

some other business--"

Doris began to strut about the kitchenette.

"Please don't! It makes me actually ill!"

"When I learn how to use my voice and my legs you'll see me playing

leads. Here, ducky, I'll take the eggs--"

Athalie, her arms also full, followed her out to the table which

Catharine had set very carelessly.

They drank Croton water and strong tea, and gravely discussed how,

from their several limited wardrobes sufficient finery might be

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extracted to clothe Catharine suitably for her evening's

entertainment.

"It's rotten to be poor," remarked the latter. "You're only young

once, and this gosh-dinged poverty spoils everything for me."

"Quit kicking," said Doris. "I don't like these eggs but I'm eating

them. If I were wealthy I'd be eating terrapin, wouldn't I?"

"Genevieve has a new gown for to-night," pouted Catharine. "How can I

help feeling shabby and unhappy?"

"Genevieve seems to have a number of unaccountable things," remarked

Doris, partly closing her velvet eyes. "She has a fur coat, too."

"Doris! That isn't square of you!"

"That isn't the question. Is Genevieve on the square? That's what

worries me, Kit!"

"What a perfectly rotten thing to say!" insisted Catharine

resentfully. "You know she's on the level!"

"Well then, where does she get it? You know what her salary is?"

Athalie said, coolly: "Every girl ought to believe every other girl on

the square until the contrary is proven. It's shameful not to."

"Come over to the Egyptian Garden and try it!" laughed Doris. "If you

can believe that bunch of pet cats is on the square you can believe

anything, Athalie."

Catharine, still very deeply offended, rose and went into the bedroom

which she shared with Doris. Presently she called for somebody to

assist her in dressing.

Doris, being due at the theatre by seven o'clock, put on her rusty

coat and hat, and, nodding to Athalie, walked out; and the latter

went away to aid Catharine.

"You do look pretty," she insisted after Catharine had powdered her

face and neck and had wiped off her silky skin with the chamois rag.

The girl gazed at her comely, regular features in the mirror, patted

her hair, moistened her red lips, then turned her profile and gazed at

it with the aid of a hand-glass.

"Who else is going?" inquired Athalie.




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