edly. "We never give any
out without permission. Of course they'd use snapshots, which are not
always--er--artistic."

Remembering that she had been snapped when she had a veil on and also
with her mouth open, as all mouths must be in active speech, she told
him in a bored tone:

"It doesn't interest me."

"Thank you, mademoiselle! Thank you!" effusively exclaimed the artist.
"It is no wonder--"

She turned on him a cold, haughty stare.

He was all confusion.

"_Pardon!_ I--I-- Monsieur Rutgers--" he stammered. "I--I-- He--"

She left the shop, a vindictive look in her wonderful eyes. She hated
H. R. Was she merely the advertised vulgarity of that unspeakable man
whom her family so foolishly had not jailed? What had he made of her?
She might not mind being called beautiful by the newspapers, but--

The photographer's liveried flunky on the sidewalk opened the door of
her motor.

Nine pedestrians, two of them male, stopped.

"That's Grace Goodchild!" hissed one of the women, tensely.

"See her?" loudly asked another.

In the time consumed between the opening of the car's door and her
taking her seat eleven more New-Yorkers gathered about the Menaud.

"Home!" she snapped, angrily.

The photographer's flunky stepped away to tell the chauffeur. Instantly
a young man's head was thrust through the window of the car. Behind him
crowded a dozen disgusting beasts--female.

"You're a pippin!" came from the young man's face a foot from her own.
She shrank back. "Say, _he's_ right! I wisht I was in his--" Then the
motor started and nearly, but, alas! not quite, decapitated the
loathsome compatriot.

If this was fame, she didn't wish any of it, she decided.

"I hate him!" she said to the cut-glass flower-holder. "He has given me
this absurd notoriety and-- What delays us?"

She looked out of the window.

They were halted at Thirty-fourth Street. Presently the traffic
policeman's whistle blew. The motor started again.

She looked at the policeman. He instantly touched his helmet to her. And
she saw also that he nodded eagerly to his mounted colleague across the
street.

The man on horseback also saluted her militarily!

She bowed to him. She had to, being well-bred. She also smiled. She was
of the logical sex.

"Nevertheless, I hate--" But she left her thought unfinished in her
quick desire to lie to herself.

"The policeman must know papa," she said, aloud, to show H. R. what she
thought of him.

A