On the couch, languidly lost among the cushions, Winona Horning (likewise a nom de guerre) was abandoned in lazy attention. In the embrasure of one window, camped tailor fashion in a large armchair, a woman was studying a rôle, beating time with one finger, mumbling occasionally: "Tum-tum-ti-tumpety-tum-tum-tum! I breakfast in diamonds, I bathe in cream. What's the use? What's the use?" Snyder--she called herself Miss, but passed for being divorced--was not of the fraternity of the Salamanders. Doré Baxter had found her in ill health, out of a position, discouraged and desperate; and in a characteristic impulse, against all remonstrances, had opened her room to her until better days. The other Salamanders did not notice her presence or admit her equality. She seemed not to perceive their hostility, never joining in their conversation, going and coming silently. The sharp shaft of the sun, bearing down like a spot-light, brought into half relief the mature lines of the body and the agreeable, if serious, features. The brown head, with a defiance of coquetry, was simply dressed, braided about with stiff rapid coils. The dress was black, the waist unrelieved--the costume of the woman who works. What made the effect seem all the more severe was that there was more than a trace of beauty in the face and form--a prettiness evidently disdained and repressed. One shoe, projecting into the light, was noticeably worn at the heel. All at once, without turning, the girl on the trunk, twisting anxiously before the mirror, exclaimed: "Winona, what do you really think?" "It doesn't show from here." "How can you see from there? Come over nearer!" Winona Horning, taller, more thoughtful in her movements, rose reluctantly, fixing a strand of jet-black hair which had strayed, and seated herself according to the command of a little finger. Her complexion was very pale against the black of her hair, her eyes were very large, given to violent and sudden contrasts, more intense and more restless than her companion's. "And now?" said Doré, lifting the glowing skirt the fraction of an inch. "Still all right." "Really?" "Really!" "And now?" "Um-m--yes, now it shows!" On the golden ankle a mischievous streak of white had appeared--a seam outrageously rent. "Heavens, what a fix! I've just got to wear them!" said Doré, dropping her skirts with a movement of impatience. "Estelle has a pair--" "She needs them at three. We can't connect!" "Bah! Dazzle with the left leg, then, Dodo," replied Winona, giving her her pet name. Doré accepted the suggestion with a burst of laughter, and springing lightly down, seated herself on the trunk. "Yes--yes, it can be done," she said presently, after a moment's practising. "If I don't forget!" "You won't," said Winona, with a smile.