, too, Edith!" I said, misty-eyed, too, for some reason. I
had fought, bled and died with Edith once.

"Oh, no, I'm not. I've got a streak of gray right up the front."

"Really? Well, it doesn't show one bit," I quavered, and then, "It's
terribly good to see some one from home."

Edith got out her handkerchief.

"I, for one, just hate squabbles," she announced.

And "So do I," I agreed.

Later we sat down together on the sofa. She looked around curiously.

"What sort of a place is this, anyhow?" she asked in old, characteristic
frankness. "I didn't know what I was getting into. It seems sort of--I
don't know--not quite--not quite--I feel as if I might be shut up in
here and not let out."

I laughed. Later I took her up to our showrooms on the top floor.

"Good heavens, do you sell people things, Ruth?" she demanded.

"Of course I do," I assured her.

"Just the same as over a counter almost?"

"Yes--not much difference."

"But don't you feel--oh, dear--that seems so queer--what _is_ your
social position?"

"Oh, I don't know. I've cut loose from all that."

"I know, but still you've got to think about the future. For instance,
how would we feel if Malcolm wrote he was going to marry a clerk--or
somebody like that--or a manicurist?"

"If she had education to match his--I should think it was very nice."

"Oh, no, you wouldn't. That's talk. Most people wouldn't anyhow. You are
awfully queer, Ruth. You aren't a bit like anybody I know. Don't you
sometimes feel hungry for relations with people of your own class?
Friendly relations, I mean? Something different from the relations of a
clerk to a customer? I would. You are just queer." Then suddenly she
exclaimed, "Who's that?"

Virginia had passed through the room.

"Oh, that's Virginia. That's Miss Van de Vere."

"My dear," said Edith, impressed, "she was a guest at Mrs. Sewall's
once, when you were out West. She's so striking! I saw her at the
station when she arrived--Van de Vere--yes, that was the name. It was
in the paper. They spoke of her as a talented artist. Everybody was just
crazy about her in Hilton. She was at Mrs. Sewall's two weeks. She was
reported engaged to a duke Mrs. Sewall had hanging around. I remember
distinctly. What is she doing around here?"

"Why, she and I run this establishment," I announced.

"Good heavens! Does she sell people things?"

"Why, of course, Edith, why not?"

"Well--of all things! I don't know what we're co