s. Her glance fell upon a vase of flowers that stood
on a table near another window. She rose and went to them, bending
over to inhale their fragrance. "How strange!" she exclaimed, as she
felt them crackle in her fingers. Poor child, they were artificial!
But she would learn, ere long, that they fittingly symbolized the life
of the great city in which she was now adrift.

Time passed. She began to wonder why the woman did not return. Were
not the Reeds anxious to know of her safe arrival? But perhaps they
had visitors. Surely that was the case. It was a ball--but so
different from the simple, artless _baile_ of her native town. Stray
snatches of music drifted into the room from the piano below. It
stimulated a hunger for more. She went to the door, thinking to open
it a little and listen. The door was locked!

For a moment she stood reflecting. Then apprehension began to steal
over her. She went hastily, instinctively, to a window and raised the
curtain. There were iron bars in front of it! She remembered suddenly
that prison windows were like that. She hurried to the other. It was
likewise barred. Terror's clammy hand gripped at her heart. Then she
caught herself--and laughed. "How silly!" she exclaimed, sinking again
into the rocker. "God is everywhere--right here!"

At that moment the door opened noiselessly and a woman entered. She
was younger than the one who had met the boat. When she saw the girl
she uttered an exclamation. "Lord! where did you get those clothes?"

Carmen glanced down at her odd attire and then smiled up at the woman.
"Cartagena," she said simply. "Mrs. Reed bought them for me. But are
you her sister? You don't look like her."

The woman laughed, a sharp, unmusical laugh. The dry cosmetic
plastered thick upon her cheeks cracked. She was not beautiful like
the others, thought Carmen. Her cheeks were sunken, and her low-cut
gown revealed great, protruding collarbones. "Come," she said
abruptly, "get out of those rags and into something modern." She
opened a closet door and selected a gown from a number hanging there.
It was white, and there was a gay ribbon at the waist.

"It'll have to be pinned up," she commented to herself, holding it out
before her and regarding Carmen critically.

The girl's eyes danced. "Oh!" she exclaimed, "am I to wear that? How
beautiful! Did Mrs. Reed give it to me? And is there a party down
stairs?"

The woman returned no answer, but opened a bureau drawer and