“She is probably the most beautiful blond in New York society. Those industrious cold cream advertisers would pay her a fortune for the use of her picture and endorsement, but it happens that she has two or three large fortunes of her own, as well as a disgustingly rich husband. Yes, unfortunately for her adorers, she is married, Courtney Barr—even out here you must have heard of Courtney Barr—being the lucky man.” “I wonder what she’s doing here,” Sally whispered, fright widening her eyes behind the black lace. “Oh, I think Courtney’s here on political business. The Barrs have always rather fancied themselves as leaders among the Wall Street makers of presidents. He’s hobnobbing with my cousin, the governor, and Enid is probably amusing herself by collecting Americana.” “She must be awfully good,” Sally whispered, adoration making her voice lovely and wistful. “She brought all the orphanage children to the carnival yesterday, you know.” “Yes,” Van Horne shrugged, arching his brows quizzically. “I confess I was rather stunned, for Enid doesn’t go in for personal charity. Huge checks and all that sort of thing—she’s endowed some sort of institution for ‘fallen girls,’ by the way—but it has never seemed to amuse her to play Lady Bountiful in person. Of course she may be nursing a secret passion for children, and took this means to gratify it where her crowd could not rag her about it.” “Hasn’t she any children of her own?” Sally asked. “But I suppose she’s too young—” “Not at all,” Van Horne laughed. “She’s past thirty, certainly, though she would never forgive me for saying so. She’s never had any children; been married about thirteen years, I think.” “Oh, that’s too bad!” Sally’s voice was tender and wistful. “She’d make such a lovely mother—” Van Horne interrupted with his throaty, musical laugh, and was in turn interrupted by Gus the barker’s stentorian roar: “Right this way, la-dees and gen-tle-men! I want to introduce you to Princess Lalla, who sees all, knows all! Princess Lalla, world famous crystal-gazer, favorite—” Sally straightened in her throne-like chair, her little brown hands cupping obediently about the “magic crystal” on the velvet-draped stand before her. Van Horne, with a last ironic chuckle, melted into the crowd, which had surged toward Sally’s platform. When Gus’s spiel was finished, the rush began. At least a dozen hands shot upward, waving quarters and demanding the first opportunity to learn “past, present and future” from “Princess Lalla.” She worked hard, conscientiously and cautiously, for she was vividly conscious that both Van Horne and Enid Barr were somewhere in the tent, listening perhaps, whispering about her.