“You’d develop inside them like the butterfly in the chrysalis,” supplemented the other. “Unfortunately it doesn’t work that way with humans. Didn’t I tell you yesterday that it wasn’t going to be easy?” “Yes. But you’re not telling me anything now. You’re just—just discouraging me.” “Why, you poor-spirited little grub, you haven’t even touched the outer edge of discouragement yet. Here! Can you do this?” Lifting her hands high above her glowing head, Gloria swept them down in a long curve of beauty, until she stood bowed but with unbending knees, her pink fingers flattened on the floor. “Of course I can’t,” whined Darcy. “Try it,” suggested the other enticingly. “It isn’t hard.” Darcy did not stir. “I’ve got corsets on,” said she. “You have. Awful ones. Take ’em off.” “I will,” she promised. Performance, not promise, was what her instructor demanded. “Do it now.” With a sigh, the girl obeyed. “It makes me look sloppier than ever,” she lamented, glancing toward the mirror. “Not actually,” was the counsel—of dubious comfort—from the other. “You only _feel_ now as you’ve been looking all the time. Don’t get another pair until I tell you. I’ll pick ’em out if you still want them when Andy Dunne is through with you.” “Who’s Andy Dunne?” “Andy,” explained the actress concisely, “is the devil.” “That’s encouraging,” murmured the girl. “Anyway, you’ll think he is. He’s my trainer.” “Trainer! You talk as if you were a prizefighter.” “I cut Andy’s lip with a straight left once,” said Miss Greene with a proud, reminiscent gleam in her eye. “It was one of the biggest moments of my life.” Taking from her desk the note which she had described to Jacob Remsen as a commutation ticket to the last station, down-line, she handed it to Darcy. The girl read it. Andy: This is Miss Darcy Cole. Put her through as you did me, only more so. Gloria Greene Darcy tucked it carefully into her imitation-leather roll, saying: “It’s awfully good of you to take all this trouble for me.” “Oh, it isn’t for you entirely. Call it part of my contribution to the general welfare. It gives me a pain in my artistic sense to see a woman-job spoiled; like a good picture daubed over by a bad amateur. So if I can rescue you as a brand from the burning and put you back on earth, a presentable human, I’ll feel like a major of the Salvation Army. That’s why I’ve decided to take you in hand. And may Heaven have mercy upon your body!” “Amen!” confirmed Darcy piously, feeling for the introductory note. “Only,” added Gloria slowly, “I want to be clear on one point. I’d like to know for whom I’m really doing this.” “Why, for me, of course,” said Darcy, big-eyed. “Not for any one else?” “Who else should there be? I told you there wasn’t any—”