powder boxes, whitening bottles, wig-blocks, and the multifarious
disordered accumulations of a dressing-room. The walls were half
hidden behind photographs, impaled upon pins, like entomological
specimens; photographs were thrust into the mirror frames, they
were propped against the heaps of tins and boxes or hidden beneath
the confusion of toilet articles. But the collection was not
limited to this variety of specimen. One section of the wall was
devoted to telegraph and cable forms, bearing messages of
felicitation at the opening of "The Revue of 1913." A zoologist
would have found the display uninteresting; but a society reporter
would have reveled in the names--and especially in the sentiments--
inscribed upon the yellow sheets. Some were addressed to Lorelei
Knight, others to Lilas Lynn, her roommate.

Pope found Lorelei completely dressed, in expectation of his
arrival. She wore the white and silver first-act costume of the
Fairy Princess. Both she and her mother were plainly nonplussed at
the appearance of their caller; but Mrs. Knight recovered quickly
from the shock and said agreeably:

"Lorelei was frightened to death at your message yesterday. She
was almost afraid to let you interview her after what you wrote
about Adoree Demorest."

Pope shrugged. "Your daughter is altogether different to the star
of the Palace Garden, Mrs. Knight. Demorest trades openly upon her
notoriety and--I don't like bad women. New York never would have
taken her up if she hadn't been advertised as the wickedest woman
in Europe, for she can neither act, sing, nor dance. However,
she's become the rage, so I had to include her in my series of