at electric,
pregnant, meaning something that flashes between two women who dislike
and understand each other. Then Two-eighteen was off down the hall to
her room.

Julia stood at the head of the stairway just next to Sadie's desk
and watched Two-eighteen until the bend in the corridor hid her.
Julia, of the lady's-maid staff, could never have qualified for the
position of floor clerk, even if she had chosen to bury herself in
lavender-and-white crocheted shawls to the tip of her marvellous little
Greek nose. In her frilly white cap, her trim black gown, her immaculate
collar and cuffs and apron, Julia looked distractingly like the young
person who, in the old days of the furniture-dusting drama, was wont to
inform you that it was two years since young master went away--all but
her feet. The feather-duster person was addicted to French-heeled,
beaded slippers. Not so Julia. Julia was on her feet for ten hours or so
a day. When you subject your feet to ten-hour tortures you are apt to
pass by French-heeled effects in favour of something flat-heeled, laced,
with an easy, comfortable crack here and there at the sides, and
stockings with white cotton soles.

Julia, at the head of the stairway, stood looking after Two-eighteen
until the tail of her silken draperies had whisked round the corner.
Then, still staring, Julia spoke resentfully:

"Life for her is just one darned pair of long white kid gloves after
another! Look at her! Why is it that kind of a face is always wearing
the sables and diamonds?"

"Sables and diamonds," replied Sadie Corn, sniffing essence of
peppermint, "seem a small enough reward for having to carry round a mug
like that!"

Julia came round to the front of Sadie Corn's desk. Her eyes were
brooding, her lips sullen.

"Oh, I don't know!" she said bitterly. "Being pretty don't get you
anything--just being pretty! When I first came I used to wonder at those
women that paint their faces and colour their hair, and wear skirts that
are too tight and waists that are too low. But--I don't know! This
town's so big and so--so kind of uninterested. When you see everybody
wearing clothes that are more gorgeous than yours, and diamonds bigger,
and limousines longer and blacker and quieter, it gives you a kind of
fever. You--you want to make people look at you too."

Sadie Corn leaned back in her chair. The peppermint bottle was held at
her nose. It may have been that which caused her eyes to narrow to mer