goin' to be a cross between a California bungalow and the
Horticultural Building at the World's Fair. Say, I ain't the worst,
kid. There's others outside of my smear, understand, that I wouldn't
change places with."

A dozen apologies surged to Emma McChesney's lips just as the driver
drew up at the curbing outside the hotel and jumped down to open the
door. She found herself hoping that the hotel clerk would not class
her with her companion.

At eleven o'clock that morning Emma McChesney unlocked her door and
walked down the red-carpeted hotel corridor. She had had two hours of
restful sleep. She had bathed, and breakfasted, and donned clean
clothes. She had brushed the cinders out of her hair, and manicured.
She felt as alert, and cool and refreshed as she looked, which speaks
well for her comfort.

Halfway down the hail a bedroom door stood open. Emma McChesney
glanced in. What she saw made her stop. The next moment she would have
hurried on, but the figure within called out to her.

Miss Blanche LeHaye had got into her kimono again. She was slumped in
a dejected heap in a chair before the window. There was a tray, with a
bottle and some glasses on the table by her side.

"Gawd, ain't it hot!" she whined miserably. "Come on in a minute. I
left the door open to catch the breeze, but there ain't any. You look
like a peach just off the ice. Got a gent friend in town?"

"No," answered Emma McChesney hurriedly, and turned to go.