That first leaden closing of the doors of hope, as if no other doors remained! And now she was to enter that same _Free Press_, no longer daunted, clinging to a satchel, but rolling luxuriously, triumphant: no longer a suppliant, but amused, at the insistent invitation of the chief, the genius of the machine, whom once she had clamored so fruitlessly to see. Then and now.... Harrigan Blood--society itself, on which she was to take a delicious revenge. She forgot Massingale, remembering only a hopeless little figure, ready for tears, standing, a tiny black dot against the electric windows of the press, gazing into the wilderness of the strident crowded unknown. * * * * * A quick descent, a sudden volcanic propulsion upward, and they were transferred a hundred feet above strife, into a noisy anteroom, gazing down at the gray-and-white tapestry of the spread city. "Hello! What are you doing here?" They turned. Estelle Monks, of the second floor front at Miss Pim's, owner of the white fox stole and the circulating garments, was standing beside them, jauntily alert. "Goodness' sakes, it's Estelle!" exclaimed Ida. "Well, what are _you_ doing--?" "Oh, I contribute," said Estelle evasively. She was in a short tailored suit, Eton collar, Alpine hat and feather. With her hands in her side pockets, she was very direct, at ease, mannish, but not disagreeably so--rather attractive with her dark eyes, which, as Ida expressed it, had the "real come-hither" in their mocking depths. A boy came shuffling out, saying nasally: "Mr. Blood will see you naow." They left Estelle Monks indulging in a long whistle of surprise, traversed a long chorus of clicking machines, and discovered a room of comparative quiet, spacious, with embattled desks. Harrigan Blood was waiting, a smile on his face as he fingered the _two_ cards. "Very nice of you to bring Miss Summers," he said jerkily, making his own introduction. "Added pleasure, I'm sure!" Doré, who had expected some show of irritation, wondered in an amused way how he would manage to procure the tête-à-tête which she had just rendered impossible. In ten minutes Blood, without seeming to have considered the question, had resolved the knot by calling in Tony Rex, one of the younger cartoonists, a boyish person who eyed them with malicious curiosity, and having consigned Ida to him for a tour of inspection, had availed himself of the first interval to say: "Come, you can see all this any time. You are not going to get out of a talk with me by any such tricks." She consented, laughing, to be led back. "Why did you do this?" he said, irritated. "Do what?" "Bring a governess?" "Because I'm a very proper person." "It annoys me. I hate women who annoy me!" he said abruptly. She smiled in provoking silence, while, with a quick excusing gesture, he lighted a cigar.