. With the cheque was the assurance of another and
a bigger one. She had only to earn it. To earn it she had only to follow
the programme. The poor soul was trying to. The job was not easy. Cassy
was skittish. A pull on the rein and she would kick the apple-cart over.

Femininely she discounted it all. Cassy was not worth the time, the
trouble, particularly the careful handling. There were girls in plenty,
quite as good-looking, who, without stopping to count two, or even one,
would jump at it. But there you were! Paliser did not want partridges
that flew broiled into his mouth. A true sportsman, he liked to snare
the bird. The feminine in her understood that also. Besides it was all
grist for her mill. But the grist was uphill, and if the noble marquis
got so much as an inkling of it, he was just the sort of damn fool to
whip out his sword-cane and run her through. The honour of the
Casa-Evora, what? Yet, being on the job, she buckled to it.

"What will you get, dearie?"

Cassy sat down. Her previous ruminations returned. Escorting them was a
vision of a baronial castle. In the hall, a guest-book in which you
wrote your name. A squad of lackeys that showed you into a suite of
salons. Rugs on which there was peace; sofas on which there was ease;
etageres on which there were reveries. Nothing else. No cupboards hung
with confections. No models sailing in and out. Nothing so commercial as
anything for sale. Nothing but patrician repose and the chatelaine--a
duchess disguised as a dressmaker--who might, or might not, ask you
upstairs.

In war time at that! Though, it is true, Congress had only just declared
it.

But, Cassy reflected, two hundred and fifty, with Lennox deducted and
less ten per cent, would not take her as far as the drawbridge. The
fleeting vision of the castle passed, replaced by the bargain seductions
of department-stores.

Fingering the money, she said: "Where does this person live? She ought
to send a taxi."

"Certamente," replied the fat woman, lapsing, as she occasionally did
lapse, into the easy Italian of the lyric stage. "She certainly will."

Cassy jumped up. "Well, then, you come along while I take a look about.
Afterward we will have lunch. I'll eat, you can watch me and I'll tell
you how it tastes. There's the telephone!"

Cassy opened the door, went out into the narrow and shadowy hall and
took the receiver.

"Yes? Oh! None the better for the asking. To-night? Impossible.
To-morro