Fritzie supplied the answer, speaking in a ponderous contralto. "Her name is Mary," said she. "_Bien_--a pretty name," Celeste rattled on, precisely as if her unwilling entertainer had made the response. "I like eet well; but"--and she studied with unobtrusive care the russet-framed, indignant face before her--"eet ees not so good as ees yourself. I t'ink--let me see--yaas: I t'ink I shall call you 'Violet.'--Violet, why you don't eat more een dees 'ouse?" "I'm hardly ever hungry," said Mary. "Not hongry?--Oh-h, but you mohst be hongry! Anyone so young mohst want to eat, and anyone so beautiful mohst eat so as not to loose the beauty.--Ees eet not so, Fritzie?" The German girl smiled gently and nodded her blonde head. "Ach, yes," she rumbled. "The liebchen!" "No," insisted Mary. "I don't care about nothing. I have a headache all the time. I have one now." Celeste jumped lightly to the floor: it was as if to uncoil her feet and to reach the door required but a single movement. "_Un moment!_" she laughed. "I shall feex the _mal de tête_ immediate!" There was no time for remonstrance; the door closed upon her concluding word, and Mary was left there gazing into the stolid, sphinxlike face of the placidly smiling German. It was not a bad face, and soon Mary realized that it was a contented one. Fritzie was returning her look with an equal curiosity. "Are you vorried?" she finally inquired. "No," lied Mary proudly. "I dought you looked like vorried," the German continued. "Bud you should be nod. Dis iss a goot place. Dere are loads vorse blaces in New York dan dis: I know 'em." She paused, but Mary's lips remained closed, her eyes fixed. "You bed I know 'um!" Fritzie repeated. "Bud dis blace--vhy, ve haf de best meals, so goot nobody gould besser haf! I like dis blace." A faint question shot into Mary's face. At once Fritzie answered it. "Dat's righd. Listen: I gome over here two year ago in de steerage. Some of de vomen, men meet dem--oh, most all de nod-family vons--un' took dem to dese here intelligence office dat are only fakes, un' sold dem, vidout dere knowin' nussin' of it, fur ten un' fifteen dollar' each. Bud I vas careful. I get a real tshob.--Ach, himmel!" She waved a broad palm in disgust.