is
first thought of her. She seemed, indeed, like some dainty
statuette, uncouthly clad, who had strayed from a world of her
own upon rough days and found herself ill-equipped indeed for the
struggle. His heart grew hot with anger against Morrison as he
stood and watched her. Supposing she had been different! It
would have been his fault, leaving her alone to battle her way
through the most difficult of all lives. Brute!

He had muttered the word half aloud and she suddenly opened her
eyes. At first she seemed bewildered. Then she smiled and sat up.

"I have been asleep!" she exclaimed.

"A most unnecessary statement," he answered, smiling. "I have
been standing looking at you for five minutes at least."

"How fortunate that I gave you the key!" she declared. "I don't
suppose I should ever have heard you. Now please stand there in
the light and let me look at you."

"Why?"

"I want to look at a man who has had supper with Mademoiselle
Idiale."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Am I supposed to be a wanderer out of Paradise, then?"

She looked at him doubtfully.

"They tell strange stories about her," she said; "but oh, she is so
beautiful! If I were a man, I should fall in love with her if she
even looked my way."

"Then I am glad," he answered, "that I am less impressionable."

"And you are not in love with her?" she asked eagerly.

"Why should I be?" he laughed. "She is like a wonderful picture, a
marvelous statue, if you will. Everything about her is faultless.
But one looks at these things calmly enough, you know. It is life
which stirs life."

"Do you think that there is no life in her veins, then?" Zoe asked.

"If there is," he answered, "I do not think that I am the man to stir
it."

She drew a little sigh of content.

"You see," she said, "you are my first admirer, and I haven't the
least desire to let you go."

"Incredible!" he declared.

"But it is true," she answered earnestly. "You would not have me
talk to these boys who come and hang on at the stage-door. The men
to whom I have been introduced by the other girls have been very
few, and they have not been very nice, and they have not cared for
me and I have not cared for them. I think," she said, disconsolately,
"I am too small. Every one to-day seems to like big women. Cora
Sinclair, who is just behind me in the chorus, gets bouquets every
night, and simply chooses with whom she should go out to supper."

Laveric