us diseases,
germs, and what not. But some women would be willing to go to Hades if
they could tie a becoming rag around their heads. Why didn't you dress
yourself properly before you came in here?"

"I wanted to, but Aunt----"

"Aunt Enid, I suppose! If it was left to her she'd have you trailing
around in a Greek tunic and sandals, with a laurel wreath on your head."

There was an ominous pause, during which Madam's wrinkled, bony hands,
flashing with diamonds, searched rapidly among the papers.

"You are all ready to start on Monday? Your clothes are in good
condition, I presume?"

Eleanor brought her gaze from a detached contemplation of the ceiling to
a critical inspection of her finger-nails.

"I suppose Aunt Isobel has attended to them," she said indifferently.

"Aunt Isobel, indeed!" snarled Madam. "You'd lean on a broken reed if you
depended on Isobel. And Enid is no better. _I_ attended to your clothes.
I got you everything you need, even down to a new set of furs."

"Silver fox?" asked Eleanor, brightening visibly.

"No, mink. I can't abide fox. Ah! here's what I am looking for. Your
ticket and berth reservation. Train leaves at ten-thirty Monday morning."

"Grandmother," ventured Eleanor, summing up courage to lead a forlorn
hope, "you are just wasting money sending me back to Baltimore."

"It's my money," said the old lady grimly.

"It's your money, but it is my life," Eleanor urged, with a quiver in her
voice. "If you are going to send me away, why not send me to New York and
let me do the one thing in the world I want to do?"

That Madam should be willing to furnish unlimited funds for finishing
schools, music lessons, painting lessons, and every "extra" that the
curriculum offered, and yet refuse to cultivate her one real talent,
seemed to Eleanor the most unreasonable autocracy. She had no way of
knowing that Madam's indomitable pride, still quivering with the memory
of her oldest son's marriage to an unknown young actress, recoiled
instinctively from the theatrical rock on which so many of her old hopes
had been wrecked.

Eleanor's persistence in recurring to this most distasteful of subjects
roused her to fury. A purple flush suffused her face, and her cheeks
puffed in and out as she breathed.

"I suppose Claude Martel has it all mapped out," she said. "He and that
fool Harold Phipps have stirred you up to a pretty pitch. What do you see
in that silly coxcomb, anyhow?"

"If you mean