bitterly she recalled the spangled dreams of childhood, and revived the splendor of a silver and pink ballet-skirt that now would seem such tawdry, trumpery apparel. "Fancy," she said to May; "I used to want to be a Columbine and dance about Islington. Think of it. What an unnatural child!" Columbine appeared fitfully in the Ballet-divertissements that opened the Orient's entertainment, but Jenny never portrayed that elusive personage. Certainly she played Harlequin once, when a girl was ill; and very gay and sweet she looked in the trim suit checkered with black and gold. Jenny wondered why she had longed to grow up. "I used to think that it was glorious to be grown up. But there's nothing in it. There might be, but there isn't. I wish I could be what I thought I would be as a kid." "Oh, Jenny, don't talk so much, and get dressed," said Irene. "Aren't you coming out to-night?" "I suppose so," Jenny answered. "I wish I couldn't. I wish I'd _got_ to meet somebody. There, now I've told you." "Hark at her. Hark at Jenny Pearl." "Oh, well, I'm sick of going out with _you_." Irene sulked awhile; then asked: "Have you seen the peroxide they've sent up for our arms?" "Oo-er! Why?" "Mr. Walters said all the girls was to use it." "Oh, aren't they shocking, Irene? I do think they're awful." "Somebody said the Hesperides didn't look nice from the front." Jenny examined the purple bottle which would idealize their forms to an Hellenic convention. After the first indignation had worn itself out, she began to be amused by the transformations of the drug. Lying in bed next morning, she began to play with the notion of dyeing her hair. The tradition of youthful fairness from the midst of which glowed her deep blue eyes, was still vital in Hagworth Street. Other girls dyed their hair, and already once or twice Jenny had considered the step; but the exertion of buying the peroxide had hitherto stifled the impulse. Here, however, was the opportunity, and surely the experiment was worth the trial. She jumped out of bed and examined herself critically in the toilet-glass; tried to picture the effect of fairness. It would be a change, anyhow it would be something to vary the monotony of existence. It would be interesting to learn if her new appearance provoked admiration greater than ever. It would be interesting to see if the change impressed the authorities of the Orient. Best of all, perhaps, would be the exclamations of surprise when the dressing-room first beheld the alteration.