"That’s what I told her; but she wouldn’t have it. I don’t like to think what’ll be the end of her going on like this. She’s so different to any one I ever come across. I’ve let rooms to ladies of the profession for fifteen years. There was Freddie Aragon. She left me to go off with a trick bicyclist, and after that she took up with a baronet. I forget the name. Then there was Cleo Kaydor who got married to a jockey in church. She used to come and see me—" "I can smell something burning!" Maggy broke in, and the tide of Mrs. Bell’s reminiscences was immediately stemmed. She clattered downstairs to enquire into the false alarm. Maggy lit the fire and settled herself before it with a book which she found lying about. It was one which failed to sustain her interest. Gradually she dozed and ultimately dropped off asleep. By the time Alexandra returned the fire had burnt red, warming the room to a pleasant and unaccustomed temperature. As she came in Maggy woke up with a start, unable to believe the sight that met her eyes. They went from the sable coat and muff to the toque and back again. Astonishment and the lovely effect they produced on their wearer took her breath away. "Lexie!" she cried. "Where _did_ you get them? You look a princess! Is it—you don’t mean— Are—are you ruined?" she quaintly stammered. Alexandra explained how she had come by the furs. If Maggy had not been so intent on Mrs. Lambert’s legacy she would have noticed an odd look in their wearer’s face. "Oh, my dear, they’re perfect!" she exclaimed. "Real sable!" She clutched at the arm nearest her. "Lexie, go and see De Freyne in them. He’ll think you’ve married Rockefeller—or ought to!" "I’ve just come from him," said Alexandra in a weak voice. "He’s taken me on again." XXIX De Freyne was puzzled about Alexandra. Her furs and her frocks baffled him. When it transpired that she was still living in Sidey Street she became more than ever an enigma to him. He could not reconcile that neighborhood with her new and expensive appearance. Business instincts apart from curiosity made him keep an eye on her. Some acquaintance with the private affairs of his fair and usually frail merchandise was sometimes of value to him. Like a good tradesman it was his habit to take stock of it. One thing he could not reconcile with Alexandra’s apparent opulence: he never saw her lunching or supping at the Savoy or similar places. Nor did she appear to have a motor-car, that invariable sign of private advancement. Not knowing what to make of it he was reduced to detaining Maggy on pretext of business one matinée afternoon and sounding her about her friend. "By the way," he observed casually, after mildly cautioning her against a want of punctuality of which she had been guilty on the previous night. "By the way, Miss Hersey seems to have come to her senses at last. But why does her friend keep in the background?"