ch and fall
to smoothing my feathers.... Tell me some more about Victor Dorn."

"I told you he isn't fit to talk about," said Martha. "Do you know,
they say now that he is carrying on with that shameless, brazen thing
who writes for his paper, that Selma Gordon?"

"Selma Gordon," echoed Jane. Her brows came down in a gesture
reminiscent of her father, and there was a disagreeable expression
about her mouth and in her light brown eyes. "Who's Selma Gordon?"

"She makes speeches--and writes articles against rich people--and--oh,
she's horrid."

"Pretty?"

"No--a scrawny, black thing. The men--some of them--say she's got a
kind of uncanny fascination. Some even insist that she's beautiful."
Martha laughed. "Beautiful! How could a woman with black hair and a
dark skin and no flesh on her bones be beautiful?"

"It has been known to happen," said Jane curtly. "Is she one of THE
Gordons?"

"Mercy, no!" cried Martha Galland. "She simply took the name of
Gordon--that is, her father did. He was a Russian peasant--a Jew. And
he fell in love with a girl who was of noble family--a princess, I
think."

"Princess doesn't mean much in Russia," said Jane sourly.

"Anyhow, they ran away to this country. And he worked in the rolling
mill here--and they both died--and Selma became a factory girl--and
then took to writing for the New Day--that's Victor Dorn's paper, you
know."

"How romantic," said Jane sarcastically. "And now Victor Dorn's in
love with her?"

"I didn't say that," replied Martha, with a scandal-smile.

Jane Hastings went to the window and gazed out into the garden. Martha
resumed her habitual warm day existence--sat rocking gently and fanning
herself and looking leisurely about the room. Presently she said:

"Jane, why don't you marry Davy Hull?"

No answer.

"He's got an independent income--so there's no question of his marrying
for money. And there isn't any family anywhere that's better than
his--mighty few as good. And he's DEAD in love with you, Jen."

With her back still turned Jane snapped, "I'd rather marry Victor Dorn."

"What OUTRAGEOUS things you do say!" cried Martha.

"I envy that black Jewess--that--what's her name?--that Selma Gordon."

"You don't even know them," said Martha.

Jane wheeled round with a strange laugh. "Don't I?" cried she.

"I don't know anyone else."

She strode to her sister and tapped her lightly on the shoulder with
the riding stick.

"Be car