Miss Gattle shook her head in despair. She could understand a dozen heathen dialects better than the speech of so utter a foreigner as her fellow-countrywoman. Mrs. Jimmie hastened away, rather pleased at the shocks she had administered. She enjoyed her own electricity. In the corridor she administered another thrill--this time to a tall young man--a stranger, as alert for flirtation as a weasel for mischief. He huddled himself and his suitcases into as flat a space as possible, murmuring: "These corridors are so narrow, aren't they?" "Aren't they?" said Mrs. Jimmie. "So sorry to trouble you." "Don't mention it." She passed on, their glances fencing like playful foils. Then she paused: "Excuse me. Could you lend me a match? They never have matches in the Women's Room." He succeeded in producing a box after much shifting of burdens, and he was rewarded with a look and a phrase: "You have saved my life." He started to repeat his "Don't mention it," but it seemed inappropriate, so he said nothing, and she vanished behind a door. He turned away, saying to himself that it promised to be a pleasant journey. He was halted by another voice--another woman's voice: "Pardon me, but is this the car for Reno?" He turned to smile, "I believe so!" Then his eyes widened as he recognized the speaker. "Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb!" It promised to be a curious journey. CHAPTER VI A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN The tall man emptied one hand of its suitcase to clasp the hand the newcomer granted him. He held it fast as he exclaimed: "Don't tell me that you are bound for Reno!" She whimpered: "I'm afraid so, Mr. Ashton." He put down everything to take her other hand, and tuned his voice to condolence: "Why, I thought you and Sam Whitcomb were--" "Oh, we were until that shameless Mrs. Wellington----" "Mrs. Wellington? Don't believe I know her." "I thought everybody had heard of Mrs. Jimmie Wellington." "Mrs. Jimmie--oh, yes, I've heard of her!" Everybody seemed to have heard of Mrs. Jimmie Wellington. "What a dance she has led her poor husband!" Mrs. Whitcomb said. "And my poor Sammy fell into her trap, too." Ashton, zealous comforter, took a wrathful tone: "I always thought your husband was the most unmitigated----" But Mrs. Whitcomb bridled at once. "How dare you criticize Sammy! He's the nicest boy in the world." Ashton recovered quickly. "That's what I started to say. Will he contest the--divorce?" "Of course not," she beamed. "The dear fellow would never deny me anything. Sammy offered to get it himself, but I told him he'd better stay in Chicago and stick to business. I shall need such a lot of alimony." "Too bad he couldn't have come along," Ashton insinuated. But the irony was wasted, for she sighed: "Yes, I shall miss him terribly. But we feared that if he were with me it might hamper me in getting a divorce on the ground of desertion."