Yet they were not really intimate enough as yet for Sally to sit down on the bed directly she came into the room and break into an excited description of her adventure. She knew the cold look of inquiry in Janet's eyes. She could foresee the disconcerting questions that would be asked. Janet's questions, coming dryly--all on one note--from those thin lips of hers, drove sometimes to a point that was almost too deep for Sally's comprehension. And Sally is a woman of sex, not of intellect. "You can have the glass now if you want it," said Janet, moving away to her bed. Sally rose wearily and began to take off her things. "I am fagged!" she exclaimed. Janet said nothing. The blue lines under Sally's eyes, that indescribable drawing of the flesh of those round cheeks, had told her that long ago. Sally gazed at herself in the glass. "Look at my eyes!" she exclaimed. "I know." "Awful, aren't they?" "Pretty bad. Can't think why you don't stick out for more money when they work you overtime." "It's no good--they'd get somebody else." "Let 'em." "Well then, what should I do?" "Go on the stage." Sally looked critically at herself again in the little mahogany-framed glass that stood on the dressing-table. With an effort she tried to forget the lines under the eyes, tried to efface the look of weariness. The thought of being an actress did not enter her thoughts. It was her appearance she considered. "Do you think I look well enough?" she asked. "Fifty per cent. of them are a good deal worse in those musical comedies." "How much should I get?" "Two pounds a week." "That's as much as you." "Yes; but you'd have to work for it. I don't." "Oh yes; but what sort of work? Nothing to typewriting." "Perhaps not. But they'd probably expect more than work out of you." "What do you mean?" "Well, when a stage manager gives an unknown girl a walk on in the chorus of a musical comedy, he looks upon it in the light of a favour. I suppose it is too. He puts her in the way of knowing a lot of well-to-do young men, and he pays her two pounds a week for doing nothing but look pretty under the most advantageous circumstances. There are women who would pay to get a job like that." Sally's face puckered with disgust. "I think life's beastly," she said. Janet smiled. "That's not life," she said; "that's musical comedy." Then she lit another cigarette and sat there, watching Sally take off her wet clothes; smiled at her, catching the garments with the tips of her fingers, and shuddering when they touched her skin. "You're too sensitive for this business, Sally," she said at last. "You're too romantic. Why don't you get married?" "I wish I could," said Sally. "Well, you don't take your chances." "What chances?" "Mr. Arthur--"