“To be a lady.” She laughed at his increasing bewilderment. “A real lady, Larry,” she went on excitedly. “Oh, it's such a wonderful idea! Father had never seemed to think much of me till the night I went to a masquerade ball with Mr. Hunt, and he and Barney saw me in these clothes. They had never seen me really dressed up before; Barney said it was an eye-opener. They saw how I could be of big use to you all. But to be that, I've got to be a lady--a real lady, who knows how to behave and wear real clothes. That's what they're doing now: making me a lady.” “Making you a lady!” exclaimed Larry. “How?” “By putting me where I can watch real ladies, and study them. Barney cut short my being in a chorus; Barney said a chorus girl never learned to pass for a lady. So I've been working in places where the swellest women come. First in a milliner shop; then as dresser to a model in the shop of a swell modiste; always watching how the ladies behave. Now I'm at the Ritzmore, and I carry a tray of cigarettes around the tables at lunch and at tea-time and during dinner and during the after-theater supper. I'm supposed to be there to sell cigarettes, but I'm really there to watch how the ladies handle their knives and forks and behave toward the men. Isn't it all awfully clever?” “Why, Maggie!” he exclaimed. “And pretty soon, when I've learned more,” she continued rapidly, “I'm going to have swell clothes of my own--and be a lady--and get away from this dingy, stuffy, dead old place! I can't stand for being buried down here much longer. And, oh, Larry, I'm going to begin to work with you!” “What?” he blinked, not yet quite understanding. “You think I'm not clever enough? But I am!” she protested. “I tell you I've learned a lot. And Barney and father have let me help in a lot of things--nothing really big yet, of course. They think I'm going to be a wonder. Just to-day father was saying that you and I, teamed up--Why, what's the matter, Larry?” “You and I--teamed up,” he repeated slowly. “Yes. Don't you like the idea?” His hands suddenly gripped her bare shoulders. “There's nothing to it!” he exclaimed almost savagely. “What's that?” she cried, startled. “I tell you there's nothing to it!” “You--you think I can't put it over?” “You can't! And I'm not going to have it!” “Why--why--” Staring, she drew slowly away from him. His face, which a few moments before had been smiling, was now harsh and dominant with decision. She had heard him spoken of as “Laughing Larry”; and also as “Terrible Larry” whose aroused will none could brook. He looked this latter person now, and she could not understand.