“There, that’s the girl!” said Two-eighteen blithely, her rage forgotten.  “Just pat this over my shoulders.”

She handed a powder-puff to Julia and turned her back to the broad mirror, holding a hand-glass high as she watched the powder-laden puff leaving a snowy coat on the neck and shoulders and back so generously displayed in the cherry-coloured gown.  Julia’s face was set and hard.

“Oh, now, don’t sulk!” coaxed Two-eighteen good-naturedly, all of a sudden.  “I hate sulky girls.  I like people to be cheerful round me.”

“I’m not used to being yelled at,” Julia said resentfully.

Two-eighteen patted her cheek lightly.  “You come out with me to-morrow and I’ll buy you something pretty.  Don’t you like pretty clothes?”

“Yes; but—­”

“Of course you do.  Every girl does—­especially pretty ones like you.  How do you like this dress?  Don’t you think it smart?”

She turned squarely to face Julia, trying on her the tricks she had practised in the mirror.  A little cruel look came into Julia’s face.

“Last year’s, isn’t it?” she asked coolly.

“This!” cried Two-eighteen, stiffening.  “Last year’s!  I got it yesterday on Fifth Avenue, and paid two hundred and fifty for it.  What do you—­”

“Oh, I believe you,” drawled Julia.  “They can tell a New Yorker from an out-of-towner every time.  You know the really new thing is the Bulgarian effect!”

“Well, of all the nerve!” began Two-eighteen, turning to the mirror in a sort of fright.  “Of all the—­”

What she saw there seemed to reassure.  She raised one hand to push the gown a little more off the left shoulder.

“Will there be anything else?” inquired Julia, standing aloof.

Two-eighteen turned reluctantly from the mirror and picked up a jewelled gold-mesh bag that lay on the bed.  From it she extracted a coin and held it out to Julia.  It was a generous coin.  Julia looked at it.  Her smouldering wrath burst into flame.

“Keep it!” she said savagely, and was out of the room and down the hall.

Sadie Corn, at her desk, looked up quickly as Julia turned the corner.  Julia, her head held high, kept her eyes resolutely away from Sadie.

“Oh, Julia, I want to talk to you!” said Sadie Corn as Julia reached the stairway.  Julia began to descend the stairs, unheeding.  Sadie Corn rose and leaned over the railing, her face puckered with anxiety.  “Now, Julia, girl, don’t hold that up against me!  I didn’t mean it.  You know that.  You wouldn’t be mad at a poor old woman that’s half crazy with neuralgy!” Julia hesitated, one foot poised to take the next step.  “Come on up,” coaxed Sadie Corn, “and tell me what Two-eighteen’s wearing this evening.  I’m that lonesome, with nothing to do but sit here and watch the letter-ghosts go flippering down the mailchute!  Come on!”

“What made you say you’d report me?” demanded Julia bitterly.