Margaret was waiting at the elevator entrance, a vivid figure in the milling groups of befurbished stenographers and shoddier older women. She came toward Catherine, and their hands clung for a moment. How young she is, and invincible, thought Catherine, as they waited for the elevator to empty its load. Margaret had Catherine's slimness and erect height; her bright hair curled under the brim of her soft green hat; there was something inimitably swagger about the lines of her sage-green wool dress and loose coat, with flashes of orange in embroidery and lining. In place of the sensitive poise of Catherine's eyes and mouth, Margaret had a downright steadiness, an untroubled intensity. "How's it feel to be a wage-earner?" She hugged Catherine's arm as they backed out of the pushing crowd into a corner of the car. "You look elegant!" "Scarcely that." Catherine smiled at her. "Now you do! Did you design that color scheme?" "I matched my best points, eyes and high lights of hair." Margaret grinned. Her eyes were green in the shadow. "Ever lunched here? I thought you might find it convenient. Lots of my girls come here." They emerged at the entrance of a large room full of the clatter of dishes and tongues. "I'll take you in on my card to-day. If you like it, you can get one." Margaret ushered Catherine into the tail of the line which filed slowly ahead of them. "This is one of the gracious ladies--" Margaret shot the half whisper over her shoulder, as she extended her green card. "A guest, please." Catherine looked curiously at the woman behind the small table; her nod in response to the professionally sweet smile was curt. "The patronesses take turns presiding," explained Margaret, as she manipulated trays and silver. "That's the sweetest and worst. Notice her dimonts!" They found a table under a rear window, where they could unload their dishes of soup and salad around the glass vase with its dusty crêpe-paper rose. "It's really good food," said Margaret, shooting the trays across the table toward the maid. "And reasonable. It's not charity, though, and the dames that run it needn't act so loving." Two girls saw the vacant chairs at the table, and rushed for them. One slipped her tweed coat back from shoulders amazingly conspicuous in a beaded pink georgette blouse; the other opened her handbag for a preliminary devotional exercise on her complexion. Margaret hitched her chair closer to Catherine. "Now tell me all about it." She tore the oiled paper from the package of crackers; her hand had the likeness to Catherine's, and the difference, which her face suggested. Fingers deft and agile, but shorter, firmer, competent rather than graceful. "Mother says you've hired a wet-nurse and abandoned your family. I didn't think you had it in you!" "I know. You thought I was old and shelved." "Just a tinge of mid-Victorian habit, old dear." "You young things need to open your eyes." "I have opened 'em. See me stare!"