She had promised over the telephone the night before to pay a morning visit to Harrigan Blood in the editorial rooms of the _Free Press_, and then there was the appointment for luncheon with Sassoon. These acceptances did not disturb her in the least. When anything was offered, her invariable tactics were to accept--provisionally. For her tactics were simple, but formed on the basic strategy of the Salamanders: acceptance that raises hopes, then an excuse that brings tantalizing disorder, but whets the appetite. To-day she had not the slightest intention of keeping either appointment. She was only glad that she had contracted them. It was a little bit of treachery which she would offer up to Massingale. She chose her simplest costume--blue, the invariable Russian blouse, white collar open at the neck, and a bit of red in the slim belt. She wished to come to him girlish, without artifice. She felt so gaily elated that she turned tenderly toward the happiness of others. Winona would sleep until ten at least. She wheeled suddenly, and putting her arm around Snyder, embraced her. In the confusion, a locket became entangled in her lace. "What's that? You've never shown me," she said, catching the chain. Snyder silently touched the spring. Inside was the face of a child of four or five. "Yours?" "Yes." "How pretty! What's her name?" "Betty." They stood close together, looking at the uncomprehending childish gaze. "Where is she?" "With my mother." "Aren't you going to take her--ever?" "Never!" "Why not?" She dropped the locket, glancing at this half woman, half girl, who continually perplexed her. "She is so sweet--how can you do without her?" "Want her to have a home," said Snyder abruptly. She turned, as if the conversation were distasteful. "Can't be dragging her all over the continent, can I?" A great pity came to Doré, that any one should be unhappy in such a bright world. A fantastic thought followed. She knew only that Snyder was divorced--a child, a broken home. Yet persons often divorced for the absurdest reasons; perhaps it had only been a misunderstanding. If she could reconcile them, bring them together again! She approached the subject timidly. "Do me a favor?" "What?" "Let me see Betty; bring her here!" Snyder's agitation was such that she came near pushing over the coffee-pot. "You really--you want me to--" "Yes. Why not? I adore children!" She continued to watch her, surprised at the emotion she had aroused. "Yes, she is unhappy--frightfully unhappy!" she thought, and taking courage, she added: "Snyder, tell me something?" Snyder shook her head, but, despite the objection, Doré continued: "You have never told me of him--your husband. Are you sure it couldn't be patched up? Are you sure you don't care?" "I don't want to talk about it--it's ended!" said Snyder, so abruptly that Doré drew back. "I only asked--" "Don't want help--don't want to talk!" Snyder broke in, in the same embittered tone.