Dodo, left alone, dressed in a simple dress of dull black, relieved by a lace edging at the throat and sleeves, and a tailor hat with the invariable splash of a red feather; for she made it a superstition never to be without a little red flutter of audacity and daring. Then she zealously applied the powder, to give a touch of ailing melancholy to her young cheeks--it would never do to appear before Mr. Peavey in too healthy a manifestation. In general, it must be noted that no Salamander is ever in perfect health. There is always lurking in the background a melancholy but most serviceable ailment that not only does for a thousand excuses, but encourages concrete evidences of masculine sympathy. Her costume finished, she exercised her prevaricatory talents at the telephone, soothing irate admirers, who had clamored ineffectually for her the evening before, with plausible tales which, if they did not entirely believe, they ended by weakly accepting, which amounted to the same thing. [Illustration: "Please don't bother me again."] At noon, according to orders, Joseph Gilday, Junior, arrived with a carefully simulated hang-dog look. He was a wiry, sharp-eyed, jingling little fellow, just twenty, already imbued with the lawyer's mocking smile, on the verge of being a man of the world, eager to arrive there, but not quite emancipated. For the last month in this growing phase Doré had found the lines of discipline difficult to maintain. She even foresaw the time when it would be impossible. He had to be handled carefully. "Hello, Dodo," said Gilday in a hollow tone of misery, dragging his cane into the room and fastening humble eyes on his yellow spats. "Good morning," said Doré frigidly, for she perceived his maneuver was to force a laugh. "Thunderation! what is it?" said Gilday, lifting his head and perceiving for the first time the floral display on the trunk tops, the bureaus and the mantelpieces. "I say, is this your October birthday?" "What do you mean?" said Doré blankly, shaking the water from the stems of Sassoon's orchids. "Never saw so many flowers in my born life!" "Many?... do you think so?" said Doré with the air of a marquise. "Ouch!" said Gilday; "I got it!... I got it!" "I think you came here to...." Gilday flushed; apologies were not easy for him. "What's the use of kicking up a tempest about a little bill of fifty?" he said sulkily. "You could take it as all the other girls do!" "My dear Joe," said Doré, seizing her opportunity instantly, "other girls do, yes--the kind that I think you see entirely too much of. The trouble with you is, you are not man of the world enough to distinguish. That's the trouble of letting boys play around with me; they make mistakes--" "Come, now," he broke in furiously, for she had touched him on the raw of his vanity. Doré stopped his exclamations with an abrupt gesture, and picking from her purse a fifty-dollar bill, held it to him between two fingers. "Take it!"