was through with this young man he would make her a less listless adieu.
She assured herself that he was a selfish, sullen boor, who needed to be
taught a lesson in manners for his own good if for nothing else; that a
woman's curiosity had aught to do with her exasperation she would have
denied. She abhorred curiosity. As a matter of fact, she told herself that
he did not interest her in the least, except as a discourteous fellow who
ought to be shocked into a consciousness of his bad manners, and therefore
the moment the two men were well out of the room she darted to the table,
snatched up the magazine, and skimmed through it feverishly. Ah! here was
the place!

A woman's face with some meaningless name beneath filled each page. Along
the top ran the heading, "Famous American Beauties." So it was a woman!
She skipped backward and forward among the pages for further possible
enlightenment, but there was no article accompanying the pictures. It was
merely an illustrated section devoted to the photographs of prominent
actresses and society women, most of whom she had never heard of, though
here and there she saw a name that was familiar. In the centre was that
tantalizingly clean-cut edge which had subtracted a face from the gallery
--a face which she wanted very much to see. She paused and racked her
brain, her brows furrowed with the effort at recollection, but she had
only glanced at the pages when the magazine came, and had paid no
attention to this part of it. Her anger at her failure to recall this
particular face aroused her to the fact that she was acting very
foolishly, at which she laughed aloud.

"Well, what of it?" she demanded of the empty room. "He's in love with
some society ninny, and I don't care what she looks like." She shrugged
her shoulders carelessly; then, in a sudden access of fury, she flung the
mutilated magazine viciously into a far corner of the room.