g in Atlantic City of the musical comedy
company of whose chorus Mary Warden was a member.

The other, in the column headed "Marriages," announced tersely the
nuptials of Lucy Spode and Samuel W. Meyerick. No details were given.

Forlornly Sally wandered to the windows and opened them to exchange
the hot air of the studio for the hotter air of the back yards.

Then slowly she set about picking up the threads of her life.

Such clothing as she owned offered little variety for choice. She
selected the least disreputable of two heavy, black winter skirts, a
shirt-waist badly torn at the collar-band, her severely plain
under-clothing, coarse black stockings, and shoes that had been
discarded as not worth another visit to the cobbler's.

When these had been exchanged for the gifts of Mrs. Standish, Sally
grimly packed the latter into the hand-bag and shut the latch upon
them with a snap of despair.

Come evening, when it was dark enough, she would leave them at the
door of the residence up the street, ring the bell, and run.

She sat out a long hour, hands listless in her lap, staring vacantly
out at that well-hated vista of grimy back yards, drearily reviewing
the history of the last five days. She felt as one who had dreamed a
dream and was not yet sure that she had waked.

Later she roused to the call of hunger, and foraged in the larder, or
what served the studio as such, turning up a broken carton of Uneeda
Biscuit and half a packet of black tea. There was an egg, but she
prudently refrained from testing it. . . .

It never entered her weary head to imagine that the feet that pounded
heavily on the stairs were those of anybody but the janitor; she was
wondering idly whether there were rent due, and if she would be turned
out into the street that very night; and was thinking it did not much
matter, when the footfalls stopped on the threshold of the studio and
she looked up into the face of Mr. Trego.

Surprise and indignation smote her with speechlessness, but her eyes
were eloquent enough as she started up--and almost overturned the
rickety table at which she had been dining.

But he was crassly oblivious of her emotion. Removing his hat, he
mopped his brow, sighed, and smiled winningly.

"Hello!" he said. "You certainly did give me a deuce of a hunt. I
wormed it out of Mrs. Gosnold that you inhabited a studio somewhere on
this block, and I suppose I must have climbed thirty times three
flights of stairs i