is very nice, and all I can afford," replied Martha,
with some show of spirit.

"Oh, you can afford better quarters when Weldon engages you to-morrow,"
replied Gordon. "Your salary will be bigger, of course. Hurry up and
change your togs. I'll wait out front in the car when I return."

Three minutes later, Martha was still standing alone in the otherwise
empty parlor. Indecision was written on her face. Gordon had gone, but
still she made no move toward her room and the changing of her gown. The
outer door had slammed, and Flossie Forsythe entered with the usual
harmonious accompaniment of the rattling chatelaines.

"Hello, Martha," cried Flossie. "Wasn't that Sanford Gordon just got in
his limousine in front of the house? Came from here, too. I saw him just
as I turned the corner."

"Really?" replied Martha, coldly, moving toward the door. "I suppose
you know him better than I do," she added, as she left the room.

"Humph," murmured Flossie. "Stuck-up show-girl."

"Where's Pinkie?" inquired Mrs. Anderson, entering to light the gas.
"Hasn't she returned yet?"

"Has Pinkie gone out?" inquired Flossie, munching a caramel.

"Yes. She drove off in a taxicab with some man half an hour ago. I
thought he was a friend of yours."

"Pinkie drove off in a taxicab with a man?" Flossie fairly shrieked in
amazement. "Will wonders never cease?"

"I couldn't see who it was," explained Aunt Jane, as the door-bell
announced another visitor. "But I know it was a man."

"D'je ever hear the like of that?" Flossie shook her head wonderingly.
"Seems to me I'm getting the double cross."

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Lawrence," cried Mrs. Anderson, in the hallway,
ushering in a distinguished-looking individual with crisp, curly, dark
hair, a smoothly shaven face, an elegant bearing and a far-away look in
his flashing, dark eyes. "I'm so glad to welcome you home again--for you
know I like to feel that all my guests are, after all, members of a
happy little family."

"And glad I am to be back in your hospitable house," responded Lawrence.
"What's this I see? My photograph?" he added, beaming with delight and
gazing admiringly at the large photo on the piano.

"If we cannot have you, Mr. Lawrence," declared Mrs. Anderson,
feelingly, "it pleases us to always have your photograph before us."

"The good lady is devoted as ever to me," thought Lawrence to himself.
Aloud: "Ah, this is indeed a home for us actors, my dear Mrs.
Anderson--a r