"Me?" She shook her head with a doleful little air. "I've been having a regular hell of a time. I've been nurse girl in a swell house on Fifth Avenue. It's built out of gold and diamonds and such stuff. The missus was one of these society head-liners. You know the sort--good shape, good complexion, swell dresses, and that's all. Somebody made the dresses, her make-up box made her complexion, and her corset made her figure. Soul, heart, brain--pst! Once every day or two she'd come to the nursery just long enough to rub a bit of her complexion on the children's faces. And she treated me like I wasn't there. Oh, but wouldn't I like to wring her neck! But I'll get square with her, you bet!" She gave a grimly threatening jerk of her little head, then smiled again. "But what's your luck? Got a job yet?" "Yes." "What doing?" David shrunk from telling this brilliantly-dressed creature how lowly his work was, but he had to confess. "Clerking in a department store." "How much do you make?" That awful inquisitiveness! "Five dollars a week." Her black eyes stared at him, then suddenly she leaned back and laughed. He reddened. She straightened up, bent forward till her elbows rested on her knees, and gazed into his face. "Five--dollars--a--week!" she said. "And you a king crook!" She shook her head wonderingly. "And, please sir, how do you like being honest at five dollars a week?" "Hardly as well as I would at six," he answered, trying to speak lightly. She was silent for almost a minute, her eyes incredulously on him. "Mr. David Aldrich," she remarked slowly, "you're a fool!" He was startled--and his wonderment about her returned. "I've often said the same," he agreed. "But do you mind telling why you think so?" "A man that can make his hundreds a week, works for his living at five." He assumed such innocence of appearance as he could command. "I'm a little surprised to hear this, especially from a woman who also works for her living." Her look of wonderment gave place to a queer little smile. "Hum!" She straightened up. "D'you mind if I smoke?" she asked abruptly, drawing a silver cigarette case from a pocket of her skirt. The women David had known had not smoked. But he said "no" and accepted a cigarette when she offered him the open box. She struck a match, held the flame first to him, then lit her own cigarette. She drew deeply. "To-day's the first time I've dared smoke for a month. Ah, but it's good!" She stared again at David, and now with that penetrating gaze of her last visit. A minute passed. David grew very uncomfortable. Then she announced abruptly: "You're on the dead level!" The queer little smile came back. "Yes, I work for my living. And I keep my flat, keep my father, dress myself, have plenty of money for good times, and put aside enough so that I can knock off work whenever I like--all on a maid's twenty a month. And how do you suppose I do it?"