I didn't wear the original black velvet dress!" cried she,
with the unreasoning rage for which she had always been famous. "If I
had worn it, everything would have been different. That dress had a
good-luck charm. Where is it? I want it. I don't care if they do take
off the play. I want it. I want it."

"Why, child," Sid Hahn said soothingly, "that dress has probably fallen
into dust by this time."

"Dust! What do you mean? How old do you think I am? That you should say
that to me! I've made millions for you, and now--"

"Now, now, Sally, be a good girl. That's all rot about that dress being
lucky. You've grown out of this part; that's all. We'll find another
play--"

"I want that dress."

Sid Hahn flushed uncomfortably. "Well, if you must know, I gave it
away."

"To whom?"

"To--to Josie Fifer. She took a notion to it, and so I told her she
could have it." Then, as Sarah Haddon rose, dried her eyes, and began to
straighten her hat: "Where are you going?" He trailed her to the door
worriedly. "Now, Sally, don't do anything foolish. You're just tired and
overstrung. Where are you--"

"I am going to see Josie Fifer."

"Now, look here, Sarah!"

But she was off, and Sid Hahn could only follow after, the showman in
him anticipating the scene that was to follow. When he reached the
fourth floor of the storehouse Sarah Haddon was there ahead of him. The
two women--one tall, imperious, magnificent in furs; the other shrunken,
deformed, shabby--stood staring at each other from opposites sides of
the worktable. And between them, in a crumpled, grey-black heap, lay the
velvet gown.

"I don't care who says you can have it," Josie Fifer's shrill voice was
saying. "It's mine, and I'm going to keep it. Mr. Hahn himself gave it
to me. He said I could cut it up for a dress or something if I wanted
to. Long ago." Then, as Sid Hahn himself appeared, she appealed to him.
"There he is now. Didn't you, Mr. Hahn? Didn't you say I could have it?
Years ago?"

"Yes, Jo," said Sid Hahn. "It's yours, to do with as you wish."

Sarah Haddon, who never had been denied anything in all her pampered
life, turned to him now. Her bosom rose and fell. She was breathing
sharply. "But S.H.!" she cried, "S.H., I've got to have it. Don't you
see, I want it! It's all I've got left in the world of what I used to
be. I want it!" She began to cry, and it was not acting.

Josie Fifer stood staring at her, her eyes wide with horror and
unbelief.