t in which she had been bred, these beliefs had come to be
her religion. She was thoroughly orthodox, and had the defensive and
aggressive fervor which is the temper of militant orthodoxy.

And so more keenly than ever, because she was more determined than ever,
Maggie studied the groups of well-dressed men and women who ate and
danced at the Ritzmore, among whom she circulated in her short, smart
skirt with her cigarette tray swung from her neck by a broad purple
ribbon. Particularly she liked the after-theater crowd, for then only
evening wear was permitted in the supper-room and the people were at
their liveliest. She liked to watch the famous professional couple
do their specialties on the glistening central space with the agile
spot-lights always bathing them; and then watch the smartly dressed
guests take the floor with the less practiced and more humble steps.
Sometime soon she was going to have clothes as smart as any of these.
Soon she would be one of these brilliant people, and have a life more
exciting than any. Very soon--for her apprenticeship was almost over!

Barney Palmer had these last few months, since he had discovered in
Maggie a star who only needed coaching and then an opportunity, made it
a practice to come for Maggie occasionally when one o'clock, New York's
curfew hour, dispersed the pleasure-seekers and ended Maggie's day of
work, or rather her day of intensive schooling for her greater life. On
the night of his return from Chicago, which was a week after his break
with Larry, Barney reported to take Maggie home. He was in swagger
evening clothes and he asked the starter for a taxi; with an almost
lordly air and for the service of a white-gloved gesture to a chauffeur,
he carelessly handed the starter (who, by the way, was a richer man
than Barney) a crisp dollar bill. Barney was trying to make his best
impression.

"Seen much of that stiff, Larry Brainard?" he asked when the cab was
headed southward.

His tone, which he tried to make merely contemptuous, conveyed the deep
wrath which he still felt whenever his mind reverted to Larry. Maggie
reserved to herself the privilege of thinking of Larry just as she
pleased; but being the kind of girl she was, she could not help being
also a bit of a coquette.

"I didn't think he was such a stiff, Barney," she said in an
irritatingly pleasant voice. "His prison clothes were bad, but now that
he's dressed right I think he looks awfully nice. You and