CHAPTER VI The scene within the back room of the bath-set impressed John like a still on a film which had been full of action. First glance might have convinced a superficial person that intrusion was a mistake, but the financier was not limited to first glances. Leaning against the farther wall, her apparel reduced to the flimsiest of the samples on recent display, stood the manikin. Both her arms were upraised. Both hands clasped the shoulders of Seff. John glanced away; looked again; saw other things. The girl was straining to push away the shopman, not to draw him to her. In her eyes, uplifted at the crashing of the door, was pictured the terror which had sounded in her cry. Her face was white as frost--looked the whiter for a mark, shaped after the imprint of teeth, which was reddening in the flesh of her cheek. Self’s one arm wrapped her body tightly. His other hand was entangled in her flimsy garment at the breast. His face, also turned toward the door, shuddered with an absorbed, strange look between hope and hopelessness. John Cabot stood on the threshold, held by astonishment. He had heard that high prices oft times were exacted of shopgirls, as of aspirants for the stage. But this situation would have seemed incredible except that there it was before his eyes. He felt a demand for initiative. In that scant moment of hesitation, the pros and cons of the issue, as concerned himself, flashed through his mind. The principles in this behind-the-scenes passion play were not of his class, or so Catherine would have said. Both were total strangers to him, therefore their relationship not his affair. More or less undesirable notoriety must result from interference--the inevitable complement? to the Cabot millions. However, just as he knew himself not to be a number of things which Catherine would have wished him to be, he was one thing in particular which she did not wish him to be. There had been many times when, frankly, he had congratulated himself on having been a human being long before a multi-millionaire. Through the space which he had vacated in the doorway flocked a covey of fashion’s vultures. His audience formed as he crossed the room and laid a golf-hardened grip upon Seff’s shoulder. There was an instant of resistance. Then he tore the man away from the cowering girl. Almost was he tripped to a fall. Glancing down, he noted a silken swirl upon the floor. His first act, after throwing aside the drink-maddened roué, was to gather up the negligee last shown outside and lay it about the model’s shoulders. He faced around to meet Seff’s thick-lipped threats. “Wha--what do you mean? You’ll answer to me for your interference and before you’re a minute older.” The shopman chopped out at him recklessly, landing several blows.