stn't be paint and
plumpers and pads, but the real teeth. Why, I've had four real teeth
set in as if they were rooted--and my hips toned down. You may
remember what heavy legs I had--piano-legs. Look at 'em now." Mrs.
Belloc drew the wrapper to her knee and exposed in a pale-blue silk
stocking a thin and comely calf.

"You HAVE been busy!" said Mildred.

"That's only a little part. I started to tell you about the hair. It
was getting gray--not in a nice, pretty way, all over, but in spots and
streaks. Nothing else makes a woman look so ragged and dingy and old
as spotted, streaky gray hair. So I had the hair-woman touch it up.
She vows it won't make my face hard. That's the trouble with dyed or
touched hair, you know. But this is a new process."

"It's certainly a success," said Mildred. And in fact it was, and
thanks to it and the other improvements Mrs. Belloc was an attractive
and even a pretty woman, years younger than when Mildred saw her.

"Yes, I think I've improved," said Mrs. Belloc. "Nothing to scream
about--but worth while. That's what we're alive for--to improve--isn't
it? I've no patience with people who slide back, or don't get
on--people who get less and less as they grow older. The trouble with
them is they're vain, satisfied with themselves as they are, and lazy.
Most women are too lazy to live. They'll only fix up to catch a man."

Mildred had grown sober and thoughtful.

"To catch a man," continued Mrs. Belloc. "And not much even for that.
I'll warrant YOU'RE getting on. Tell me about it."

"Tell me about yourself, first," said Mildred.

"WHY all this excitement about improving?" And she smiled significantly.

"No, you'll have to guess again," said Mrs. Belloc. "Not a man. You
remember, I used to be crazy about gay life in New York--going out, and
men, theaters, and lobster-palaces--everything I didn't get in my home
town, everything the city means to the jays. Well, I've gotten over all
that. I'm improving, mind and body, just to keep myself interested in
life, to keep myself young and cheerful. I'm interested in myself, in
my house and in woman's suffrage. Not that the women are fit to vote.
They aren't, any more than the men. But what MAKES people? Why,
responsibility. That old scamp I married--he's dead. And I've got the
money, and everything's very comfortable with me. Just think, I didn't
have any luck till I was an old maid far gone. I'm not telling my age.
All m