e were only
three other occupants in the stage, the lady of the lavender silks, the
gold teeth, and a workman, sodden drunk and drowsy, in the upper
corner. The lady of the lavender silks had a complexion that looked as
if it had been dipped in a fountain of perennial youth. She was
leaning over the evening paper which the undertaker plumes had
evidently shown her. The heat had not improved Eleanor's stiff linen
collar and the dust had certainly not added to the style of her kakhi
motor coat. It was not until afterwards she remembered how both the
heads flew apart from the evening paper the moment she entered the
stage.

"Have you had a pleasant day shopping, my dear?" It was the lavender
silk with the hard mouth actually breaking in a smile. It was the "my
dear" that struck Eleanor's ear as odd. The manner said plainly as
words could say "You weren't before; but you _are_ now."

"Oh, it was rather hot," answered Eleanor quietly.

"Y're on the wrong soide. Y're in the sun. If y'll sit over b'side
off me, my dear gurl--"

Eleanor nearly exploded. 'Girl' was the limit: 'lady' would have been
worse; 'woman' was good enough for her; but, 'gurl.' It was the
manner, the proprietary manner, you are one of us _now_: what had
happened? She did not answer. She raised her eye lashes and looked
the speaker over from the undertaker's plumes and the gold teeth and
the ash colored V of skin to the clock-work stockings and high heeled
slippers. Then, the stage was stopping violently and her father
appeared on the rear steps at the door. She had never seen him look
so. His eyes were blazing. It was not until afterwards she remembered
how the lavender silks had crushed the evening paper all up and sat
upon it.

"There is a little girl up on the seat with the driver. You'll find it
pleasanter there going up the Valley."

She remembered afterwards, while her father gave her a hand up the
front wheel, a voice inside the stage exclaimed: "Say, thought they wuz
goin' to be fireworks. If Dan'd read that in th' paper 'bout me, he'd
a gone on awful."

"Oh, no, he's a thoroughbred all right, if it is part Indian."

Then her father and Williams had gone down inside the stage; and she
was left with the driver and a diminutive little bit of humanity, that
looked as if it had escaped from one of the rag shops of Shanty Town.
She wore a tawdry thing on her head with bright carmine ostrich plumes
that had lost their curl i