“Oh, what fun!” Azalea cried, “I never heard of such a thing.  I want to make a lot of records.  I’m going to make one of Baby!”

She ran into the house and up to the nursery where Winnie was just giving the child her dinner.  “Goody!” cried Azalea, “now she’ll be good-natured!  Let me take her, Winnie.”

Not entirely with Winnie’s sanction, but in spite of her half-expressed disapproval, Azalea took the laughing child and ran back to the phonograph booth.

“Let me go in ahead of you people, won’t you, please?” she begged, and the waiting line fell back to accommodate her.

But alas for her hopes.  She wanted the baby to coo and gurgle in the delightful little way that Fleurette had in her happiest moments.

Instead, frightened by the strangeness of the scene and the noise and laughter of the people all about, Fleurette set up a wail of woe which developed rapidly into a storm of screams and sobs,—­indeed, it was a first-class crying spell,—­a thing which the good-natured child rarely indulged in.

Not willing to wait for a better-tempered moment, the man took the record and poor little Fleurette was immortalised by a squall instead of a sunny burst of laughter.

But there was no help for it, and Azalea, greatly chagrined, took the baby back to Nurse.

“Here’s your naughty little kiddy,” she cried ruefully, handing Fleurette over, but giving the child a loving caress, even as she spoke.

“Thank you, Miss Thorpe, I’m glad to get her back so soon.”

And then Azalea ran away to her Indian booth, where she found her assistant doing a rushing business with the Indian wares.

Indeed, everybody seemed anxious to buy the baubles of Vanity Fair.  The cause was a worthy one, the patrons were wealthy and generous, and the vendors were charming and wheedlesome.

So the coin fairly flowed into their coffers and as the afternoon wore on they began to fear they wouldn’t have enough goods to sell the second day.

Azalea was a favourite among the young people.  She looked a picture in her Indian dress and she was in rare good humour.  She tried, too, to be gracious and gentle, and committed no gaucheries and made no ignorant errors.

“You’ve simply made that girl over,” Elise said to Patty, as the two spoke of Azalea’s growing popularity.

Patty sighed.  “I don’t know,” she said, thoughtfully.  “There’s something queer about Azalea.  Little Billee has said so from the first, and now I begin to see it, too.”

“She is queer,” assented Elise, “but she’s so much nicer than she was at first.  Ray Gale is very devoted to her.”

“I know it.  I like Ray, too, but sometimes,—­think,—­he knows something about her that he won’t tell us.”

“For mercy’s sake,—­what do you mean? knows something about your own cousin that you don’t know!”

“Oh, Zaly isn’t our own cousin, you know.  But—­well, never mind now, Elise.  This isn’t a good time to talk confidentially.”