his waking hours at the racetrack. The Poveys' flat was only a block
away from the Pages'.

George was furious to have this woman, whom he particularly detested,
come in upon him thus informally, and find him at so great a
disadvantage. His neck was better, but he could not move it very easily
still; he was trapped here in blankets like a baby; he was acutely
conscious of his three days' beard, of Julia's bed made up in the middle
of the drawing-room, and of Julia's self, partly disrobed, and running
about in the general disorder.

"Well, how does the other feller look?" said Mrs. Povey, laughing
good-naturedly. "You look like you'd broke out of San Quentin, George,
with that face! Hello, darlin'," she added, waylaying Julia. "When are
you going to come and be Aunt Mame's girl, huh? Going to come home with
me to-night?"

"Em!" bellowed George, with only a sickly smile for the guest. "_Em_!"

"My God, what is it now?" said Emeline sweetly, popping in her head.
"Oh, hello, Mame!" she added, coming in. "Where's the rest of the
girls?"

"They've all blew up to the house with Myrt," said Mrs. Povey, staring
blankly at Emeline. "But say, ain't you going, dear?"

"Wait till I get my dress on, and we'll talk it over while I hook up,"
Emeline said, disappearing again. She did not glance at George.

"Myrt's in a new show, and a few of us girls are going to see that she