ugged
Doris, nestling closer to the radiator.

Athalie said nothing; her sister slowly stirred the crackers in the
milk and from time to time took a spoonful.

"Next time," she said presently, "I shall go out to supper when an
attractive man asks me. I know how to take care of myself--and the
supper, too."

Athalie started to say something, and stopped. Perhaps she remembered
C. Bailey, Jr., and that she had promised to dine and sup with him,
"anywhere."

She said in a low voice: "It's all right, I suppose, if you know the
man."

"I don't care whether I know him or not as long as it's a good
restaurant."

"Don't talk that way, Doris!"

"Why not? It's true."

There was a silence. Doris set aside the empty bowl, yawned, looked at
the clock, yawned again.

"This is too late for Catharine," she said, drowsily.

"I know it is. Who are the people she's with?"

"Genevieve Hunting--I don't know the men:--some of Genevieve's
friends."

"I hope it's nobody from Winton's."

There had been in the Greensleeve family, a tacit understanding that
it was not the thing to accept social attentions from anybody
connected with the firm which employed them. Winton, the male milliner
and gown designer, usually let his models alone, being in perpetual
dread of his wife; but one of the unhealthy looking sons had become a
nuisance to the girls employed there. Recently he had annoyed
Catharine, and the girl was afraid she might have to lunch with him or
lose her position.

Doris yawned again, then shivered.

"Go to bed, ducky," said Athalie. "I'll wait up for Catharine."

So Doris took herself off to bed and Athalie sank into the shabby
arm-chair by the radiator to wait for her other sister.

It was two o'clock when she came in, flushed, vague-eyed, a rather
silly and fixed smile on her doll-like face. Athalie, on the verge of
sleep, rose from her chair, rubbing her eyes:

"What on earth, Catharine--"

"We had supper,--that's why I'm late.... I've got to have a dinner
gown I tell you. Genevieve's is the smartest thing--"

"Where did you go?"

"To the Regina. I didn't want to--dressed this way but Cecil Reeve
said--"

"Who?"

"Cecil--Mr. Reeve--one of Genevieve's friends--the man who was so
crazy to meet me--"

"Oh! Who else was there?" asked Athalie drily.

"A Mr. Ferris--Harry Ferris they call him. He's quite mad about
Genevieve--"

"Why did you drink anything?"

"I?"

"You did, didn't you?"

"I had a