“He always did feel himself a cut above me,” she thought grimly as she left the building and walked down Main Street. “And now, I suppose, he thinks Perch of the Devil is Mount Olympus, and that he is some god. It would be fun to put a nick or two in his halo--but never mind: I’ve got a cool two hundred thousand--_and_ a palatial residence, _and_ a limousine--sounds like a fairy tale. There’s nothing mean about him, anyhow.” When she reached her beautiful home she found four reporters awaiting her. They apologised for not meeting her at the train, but as hour after hour had passed with discouraging reports, they finally had gone home to recuperate for the next day’s labours. Ida dismissed the last of her regrets, and told them all that she wished Butte to know at once, showed the women the contents of her trunks, which the maids were unpacking, promised to let them know when the newer Paris wardrobe arrived, and finally gave them lunch. Reporters are the quickest people in the world to detect affectations, assumptions, and false values, and the most merciless in their exposure; but, although these four were on the alert, they could find neither traces of original commonness nor imitation of the British aristocracy. Ida apparently had consigned the slang of her former class to the limbo of careless grammar, and she was so simple and natural that they failed to discover how clever she was; they agreed, as they walked down Broadway, that she was merely a marvel of adaptability, like so many others that had done credit to the great state of Montana, to say nothing of the fluid West in general. But, although Ida could be anything she chose when occasion demanded, she always sought relief from the strain as quickly as possible. Immediately after the departure of the reporters she telephoned for her limousine and drove to the large “Block” in the heart of the business district where Miss Ruby Miller kept the looks of the Butte ladies up to par. As she left the elevator she saw that the familiar door was open as usual and the old screen before it. She tapped discreetly, and Miss Ruby came out into the hall, removing the cold cream from her hands with her apron. “Ide!” she cried rapturously, throwing both arms about her friend’s velvet shoulders. “Glory be, but I’m glad to see you and you do look fine----” “How mean of you not to meet me----” “We had it all fixed and supper here, but gave it up at ten o’clock. For all we knew you might not get in till morning, and you know how we work----” “Well, I’ll forgive you if you both come to dinner with me tonight. I want to have one good old time before I sit up and play the grande dame act for weeks on end----” “I guess you’re one now without any play-acting. You look the real thing all right. And I guess we won’t see so awful much of you now----” “Do you mean because I’m harnessed up to a bunch of money----” began Ida in high indignation.