a long train covered with dirtier lace, is not a beautiful garment by
full daylight. Yet to untrained eyes it looked almost gorgeous,
gathered about the handsome form. Miss De Courcy had failed to arrange
her hair for the afternoon, and it fell in heavy black folds on her
shoulders, and her temples were bandaged by a white handkerchief.
Perhaps it was not strange that Druse stood and gazed at her. The dark,
brilliant eyes fixed themselves on the slight, flat-chested little form,
clad in brown alpaca, on the pale hair drawn straight back from the pale
face, and arranged in a tight knob at the back of the head.

A whim seized the fair wearer of the negligée. "Come in and sit down, I
want to talk to you. There, leave the clothes, boy. I'll pay your mother
next time," and she pushed the boy out, and drew the young girl in with
easy audacity.

Druse looked around the room in bewilderment. It was not exactly dirty,
but things seemed to have been thrown in their places. The carpet was
bright, and much stained, rather than worn; hideous plaques and plush
decorations abounded. A crimson chair had lost a leg, and was pushed
ignominiously in a corner of the tiny room; a table was crowded with
bottles and fragments of food, and a worn, velvet jacket and
much-beplumed hat lay amongst them. A ragged lace skirt hung over the
blue sofa, on one corner of which Miss De Courcy threw herself down,
revealing a pair of high heeled scarlet slippers. "Sit down," she said,
in a rather metallic voice, that ill accorded with the rounded curves of
face and figure. "I've got a beastly headache," pushing up the bandage
on her low brow. "What did you run for, when I opened the door? Did your
folks tell you not to come in here, ever?"

"Why, no, ma'am!" said Druse, raising her blue, flower-like eyes