answers--mere beginnings that they did not care to follow up.

"They tell me," said Mrs. Cressler, "that that Gretry girl smokes
ten cigarettes every night before she goes to bed. You know the
Gretrys--they were at the opera the other night."

Laura permitted herself an indefinite murmur of interest. Her head
to one side, she drew the brush in slow, deliberate movements
downward underneath the long, thick strands of her hair. Mrs.
Cressler watched her attentively.

"Why don't you wear your hair that new way, Laura," she remarked,
"farther down on your neck? I see every one doing it now."

The house was very still. Outside the double windows they could hear
the faint murmuring click of the frozen snow. A radiator in the
hallway clanked and strangled for a moment, then fell quiet again.

"What a pretty room this is," said Laura. "I think I'll have to do
our guest room something like this--a sort of white and gold effect.
My hair? Oh, I don't know. Wearing it low that way makes it catch so
on the hooks of your collar, and, besides, I was afraid it would
make my head look so flat."

There was a silence. Laura braided a long strand, with quick,
regular motions of both hands, and letting it fall over her
shoulder, shook it into place with a twist of her head. She stepped
out of her skirt, and Mrs. Cressler handed her her dressing-gown,
and brought out a pair of quilted slippers of red satin from the
wardrobe.