“You are Miss Thurston, aren’t you?” she asked briskly as Bab came forward to speak to her, wondering how on earth this newcomer knew her name and what could be the reason for this unexpected call.

“Yes,” Barbara returned in a puzzled tone, “I am Miss Thurston.”

“Oh, don’t be surprised at my knowing your name,” Bab’s latest caller went on.  “It is my business to know everybody.  I met Mr. Dillon on the corner.  He told me Harriet Hamlin was not at home and that I had better not come here this afternoon.  I did not believe him; still I am not sorry Miss Hamlin is out, I would ever so much rather see you.  Harriet Hamlin is dreadfully proud, and she is not a bit sympathetic.  Do you think so?”

Bab was lost in wonder.  What on earth could this talkative young woman wish of her?  Did her visitor believe Bab would confide her opinion of Harriet to a complete stranger?  But the young woman did not wait for an answer.

“I want to see you about something awfully important,” she went on.  “Please promise me you will do what I ask you before I tell you what it is.”

Bab laughed.  “Don’t ask me that.  Why you may be an anarchist, for all I know.”

The new girl shook her head, smiling.  She looked less tired now.  She was pretty and fragile, with fair hair and blue eyes.  She was very pale and was rather shabbily and carelessly dressed.

“No; I am not an anarchist,” she said slowly.  “I am a newspaper woman, which is almost as bad in some people’s eyes, I suppose, considering the way society people fight against giving me news of themselves and their doings.  I came to ask you if you would give me the pictures of the ‘Automobile Girls’ for my paper?  Oh, you need not look so surprised.  We have all heard of the ‘Automobile Girls.’  Everybody in Washington of importance has heard of you.  Couldn’t you let me write a sketch about you and your adventures, and put your photographs on the society page of our Sunday edition?  It would be such a favor to me.”

Barbara looked distressed.  She was beginning to like her visitor.  Though Barbara had been associated mainly with wealthy people in the last two years of the “Automobile Girls’” adventures, she could not help feeling interested in a girl who was evidently trying to make her own way in the world.

“I am awfully sorry,” Bab declared almost regretfully, but before she finished speaking the drawing-room door opened and Ruth Stuart and Harriet Hamlin entered the room together.

“How is your head, Bab, dear?” Ruth cried, before she espied their caller.

Harriet Hamlin bowed coldly to the newspaper woman in the big arm chair.  The young woman had flushed, looked uncomfortable at sight of Harriet and said almost humbly: 

“I am sorry to interrupt you, Miss Hamlin, but my paper sent me to ask you for the pictures of your guests.  May I have them?”