ls, who had failed to live up to the part. At any rate, the sight of
these young gods of leisure, the contemplation of the stolid butler and
plush footmen in the background never failed to make Lise's heart beat
faster.

On the marble of the bureau amidst a litter of toilet articles, and
bought by Lise for a quarter at the Bagatelle bargain counter, was an
oval photograph frame from which the silver wash had begun to rub off,
and the band of purple velvet inside the metal had whitened. The frame
always contained the current object of Lise's affections, though the
exhibits--as Janet said--were subject to change without notice. The
Adonis who now reigned had black hair cut in the prevailing Hampton
fashion, very long in front and hanging down over his eyes like a
Scottish terrier's; very long behind, too, but ending suddenly, shaved
in a careful curve at the neck and around the ears. It had almost the
appearance of a Japanese wig. The manly beauty of Mr. Max Wylie was
of the lantern-jawed order, and in his photograph he conveyed the
astonished and pained air of one who has been suddenly seized by an
invisible officer of the law from behind. This effect, one presently
perceived, was due to the high, stiff collar, the "Torture Brand," Janet
called it, when she and her sister were engaged in one of their frequent
controversies about life in general: the obvious retort to this remark,
which Lise never failed to make, was that Janet could boast of no beaux
at all.

It is only fair to add that the photograph scarcely did Mr. Wylie
justice. In real life he did not wear the collar, he was free and easy
in his manners, sure of his powers of conquest. As Lise observed, he had
made a home-run with her at Slattery's Riverside Park. "Sadie
Hartmann was sure sore when I tangoed off with him," she would observe
reminiscently....

It was Lise's habit to slight her morning toilet, to linger until the
last minute in bed, which she left in reluctant haste to stand before
the bureau frantically combing out kinks of the brown hair falling over
her shoulders before jamming it down across her forehead in the latest
mode. Thus occupied, she revealed a certain petulant beauty. Like the
majority of shop-girls, she was small, but her figure was good, her skin
white; her discontented mouth gave her the touch of piquancy apt to play
havoc with the work of the world. In winter breakfast was eaten by the
light of a rococo metal lamp set in the centr