"If you don't let me alone I'll put you out--all of you nagging and picking at me; a saint couldn't stand it!" Crowder rose, but she whirled round on him, the comb held out in an arresting hand. "No, don't go yet. I'll give you another chance. I want to ask you something. I saw a woman the other day and I want to know who she is--at least I don't really want to know, but she'll do as well as anything else to change the subject. Tall with yellow sort of dolly hair and a dolly face. Dark purple dress with black velvet edges, lynx furs and a curly brimmed hat with a green paradise plume falling over one side." Crowder's face wrinkled with a grin. "Well, that's funny! You might have asked me forty others and I'd not have known. But thanks to your vivid description I _can_ tell you--I saw her yesterday afternoon in those very togs. It's the youngest Alston girl." "Who's she?" "One of the two daughters of George Alston. They're orphans, live in a big house on Pine Street. The one you saw was Chrystie. What do you want to know about her?" Pancha, gathering her hair in one hand, began to whisk it round into a knot. Her head was down bent. "I don't know--just curiosity. She's sort of stunning looking. Did you ever meet her?" Crowder smiled. "I know them well--have for over a year. Awfully nice girls--the best kind." Pancha lifted her head, her face sharp with interest. "What's she like?" He considered, the smile softened to an amused indulgence. "Oh, just a great big baby, good-natured and jolly. Everybody likes her--you couldn't help it if you tried. She's so simple and sweet, accepts the whole world as if it was her friend. Her money hasn't spoiled her a bit." "Money--she has money?" "To burn, my dear. She's rich." Pancha took up a hand glass and turning her back to him studied her profile in the mirror. It did not occur to Crowder that he never before had seen her do such a thing. "Rich, is she?" she murmured. "How rich?" "Something like four hundred thousand dollars; her father was one of the Virginia City crowd. Chrystie's just come into her part of the roll. Eighteen years old and an heiress--that's a good beginning." "Um--must be a queer feeling. I guess the men are around the honey thick as flies." Crowder screwed up his eyes considering. "No, they're not--not yet anyhow. Until this winter the girls lived so retired--didn't know many people, kept to themselves. Now they've broken out and I suppose it's only a matter of time before the flies gather, and if you asked me I'd say they'd gather thickest round Chrystie. She hasn't as much character or brains as Lorry, but she's prettier and jollier, and after all that's what most men like." "It certainly is, especially with four hundred thousand thrown in for good measure."