"Juno? Nearly everything comes to New York sooner or later, but really I never imagined she could step out from the books of mythology. I hunt no goddess. When you pay your wager, be sure to select delicate fawn color, that will match my spring jacket." "The debt is yours. Confess, Eglah--honor bright--you are curious about the woman who sells gloves in Fourteenth Street." "I will present to you a witch's skirt, cap, and broomstick. But why 'Juno'?" "The matter was thrashed out at the club last week, where Vandiver told us some artist had compared her to a print of the Ludovisi Juno hanging in Goupil's window. Hence her elevation to Olympus." "Then you know all about her?" "On the contrary, I never saw her; but she seems to be the magnet drawing people to----just now." The carriage stopped, and Eglah walked into the department store. "Come in, Mr. Noel, and pick out your gauntlets." "Not to-day. Juno indulged in tricks that made even Jupiter keep one eye on her wiles, and I shall merely admire at a safe distance." In front of the glove counter half a dozen women clustered, and on the outside of the group three men lounged--one evidently a foreigner, with bushy beard, coarse, hairy hands, and furtive eyes, small even behind very large spectacles. Among several busy saleswomen it was easy to discover the centre of attraction--a finely developed form, tall and graceful in every movement, and a face of surpassing beauty, lighted by dark violet eyes, flushed with the glow of perfect health, and crowned by a braided mass of glittering yellow hair heaped high on a shapely head, that held it as an empress wears her tiara. In its vivid coloring the face suggested a tropical flower, but, looking closer, one thought of a frozen tulip under a sheet of ice, so hard was the cold gleam of the defiant eyes and the proud compression of red lips that had forgotten how to smile, that seemed never to have known curves of tenderness. While Eglah waited, the foreigner leaned across the counter. "Some black silk gloves. Number eight and a half." "In the next room. Men's department." "You got the papers for the league?" "Yes, that is all arranged. Meeting will be at ten o'clock to-night. You can't talk here." He touched the rim of his hat and walked away, and she looked toward Eglah. "Grey kid gloves, stitched with white silk." "What size?" "Five and a quarter." The voice had a sharp metallic ring, with an impatient inflection, and as she turned, lifting her arms to a box on an upper shelf, all the lovely outlines of her figure were shown most advantageously, and Eglah glanced over her shoulder at Mr. Herriott. He was watching the woman behind the counter with an intensely curious expression, as though disagreeably perplexed. She found the desired number. "Shall I stretch them?" "No, it is not necessary." "Do you wish them fitted on your hands?" "I will not give you that trouble. What is the price?"