aren't the worst things she has had to face, I'm
afraid," he said.

"I am rather terrified of her," Elizabeth confided, supporting herself by
her companion's shoulder. "I think I know that ultra-independent type.
Kick me if I put my foot in it. Is this the door?"

Philip nodded and knocked softly. There was a sharp "Come in!"

"Put the key down, please," the figure at the typewriter said, as they
entered.

The words had scarcely left Martha's lips before she turned around,
conscious of some other influence in the room. Philip stepped forward.

"Miss Grimes," he said, "I have brought Miss Dalstan in to see you. She
wants--"

He paused. Something in the stony expression of the girl who had risen to
her feet and stood now facing them, her ashen paleness unrelieved by any
note of colour, her hands hanging in front of her patched and shabby
frock, seemed to check the words upon his lips. Her voice was low but not
soft. It seemed to create at once an atmosphere of anger and resentment.

"What do you want?" she demanded.

"I hope you don't mind--I am so anxious that you should do some work for
me," Elizabeth explained. "When Mr. Ware first brought me in his play, I
noticed how nicely it was typewritten. You must have been glad to find it
turn out such a success."

"I take no interest in my work when once it is typed," Martha Grimes
declared, "and I am very sorry but I do not like to receive visitors. I
am very busy. Mr. Ware knows quite well that I like to be left alone."

Elizabeth smiled at her delightfully.

"But it isn't always good for us, is it," she reminded her, "to live
exactly as we would like, or to have our own way in all things?"

There was a moment's rather queer silence. Martha Grimes seemed to be
intent upon studying the appearance of her visitor, the very beautiful
woman familiar to nearly every one in New York, perhaps at that moment
America's most popular actress. Her eyes seemed to dwell upon the little
strands of fair hair that escaped from beneath her smart but simple hat,
to take in the slightly deprecating lift of the eyebrows, the very
attractive, half appealing smile, the smart grey tailor-made gown with
the bunch of violets in her waistband. Elizabeth was as quietly dressed
as it was possible for her to be, but her appearance nevertheless brought
a note of some other world into the shabby little apartment.

"It's the only thing I ask of life," Martha said, "the only thing I get.
I want