them twinkling,
what are you going to do with him?"

"Sing with him," was her firm reply. "And between songs _talk_ with
him--of Paris and my husband, and the great ideals I have--and the
delicious dinners I have--for he's fat, you know, and he loves his
meals--and then ask him to come to dinner, of course." She scowled.
"That," she said severely, "is all I can tell you at present. My plans
for resurrecting Joe will have to be made as I go along--step by step
and friend by friend." All at once she turned on him fiercely. "There's
that pity again in your eyes! 'Oh, how young,' you are thinking. Then
let me tell you, Mr. Bill Nourse, that you are not to pity me! If you
do," she cried, "the time will come when you will be pitying
yourself--for being cast off like an old leather shoe--from one of the
most brilliant and attractive circles in this town! Do you know what
you almost do to me--you, the one friend I have in New York? You make
me feel you've almost lost your faith and hope in everything--that
you're nearly old! You make me wonder if I'm too late--whether my
husband is nearly old, and the dreams he had in him cold and gone! You
scare me--and you've got to stop! You've got to be just exactly as
young as I am--this very minute! You've got to borrow some youth from
me--for I have plenty to go around--and help me make this fight for
friends! It may not come to anything--for the soul of this city is hard
as nails! This music man may turn me down--or be perfectly fat and
useless! Who knows? But how can I tell till I meet the man? And when
will you go and see him? Today or tomorrow? I haven't very much time,
you know, for any more shilly-shallying! I want some action out of
you--"

She faced him flushed and menacing, and he took her hand and said:

"You'll get it. Where's your telephone!"

"Right there in the hall!"

"I'll call up Dwight."

"Wait! Is he married?"

"No."

"Thank God!"

CHAPTER XVIII

The next morning at eleven o'clock she met Dwight in his studio, and in
a brisk pleasant businesslike way she began to tell him of her
voice--what singing she had done at home and how she had always meant to
take lessons when she should come to New York to live.

"To find out how much of a voice I really have, you know," she said.
Her manner was more affable now. "But my husband and my baby have kept
me rather busy, you see, and so I've put it off and off--until just
lately I began to look about and make i