"Yes.... I am looking for a position." "What a pretty voice--and refined way of speaking!" exclaimed Mrs. Bellmore frankly. "I guess you've seen better days. Most people have. Tell you the truth, though, I haven't. I'm better off than I ever was before. Of course this is the dull season, but things are picking up. What is your line, Miss Greensleeve?" "Stenographer." "Oh! Well, I don't suppose I could do anything for you, could I?" "I don't know what your business is," ventured Athalie, who, heretofore had not dared even to surmise what might be the vocation of this very large and faded woman who wore a pink kimono and a dozen rings on her nicotine-stained fingers, and who smoked incessantly. The woman seemed to be a trifle surprised: "Haven't you ever heard of Grace Bellmore?" she asked. "I don't think so," said Athalie with increasing diffidence. "Well, maybe you wouldn't, not being in the profession. The managers all know me. I run an Emergency Agency on Broadway." "I don't think I understand," said the girl. "No? Then it's like this: a show gets stuck and needs a quick study. They call me up and I throw them what they want at an hour's notice. They can always count on me for anything from wardrobe mistress to prima donna. That's how I get mine," she concluded with a jolly laugh. Athalie, feeling a little more confidence in her visitor, smiled at her. "Say--you're a beauty!" exclaimed Mrs. Bellmore, gazing at her. "You're all there, too. I could place you easy if you ever need it. You don't sing, do you?" "No." "Ever had your voice tried?" "No." "Dance?" "I dance--whatever is being danced--rather easily." "No stage experience?" "No." "Well--what do you say, Miss Greensleeve?" Athalie coloured and laughed: "Thank you, but I had rather work at stenography." Mrs. Bellmore said: "I certainly hate to admit it, and knock my own profession, but any good stenographer in a year makes more than many a star you read about.... Unless there's men putting up for her." Athalie nodded gravely. "All the same you'd make a peach of a show-girl," added Mrs. Bellmore regretfully. And, after a rather intent interval of silent scrutiny: "You're a _good_ girl, too.... Say, you _do_ get pretty lonely sometimes, don't you, dear?" Athalie flushed and shook her head. Mrs. Bellmore lighted another cigarette from the smouldering remnant of the previous one, and flung the gilt-tipped remains through the window. "Ten to one it hits a crook if it hits anybody," she remarked. "This is a fierce neighbourhood,--all sorts of joints, and then some. But I like my rooms. I don't guess you'll be bothered. A girl is more likely to get spoken to in the swell part of town. Well,--" she struggled to her fat feet--"I'll be going. If you're lonely, drop in during the evening. I'm at the office all day except Sundays and holidays." They stood, confronted, looking at each other for a moment. Then, impulsively the fat woman offered her hand: