Lorelei laughed.  “How well he minds!”

“He hates children—­they excite him.”

The woman with the child turned to a companion, exclaiming audibly:  “Those are the King’s rubies—­see!  Ain’t they nice and white?”

A fat matron beside Lorelei elbowed her way forward; in one hand she carried a pair of embroidered silk stockings, with the other she raised a lorgnette.  After a measured scrutiny her lips tightened, her nose lifted, she blew loudly like a porpoise, and, gathering her skirts closely, waddled away, as if fleeing from contagion.  She continued to clutch the hosiery until a floor-walker, in answer to the clerk’s frantic signal, intercepted her.  Another crowd promptly gathered to listen to her indignant denial of guilt.

“Have you finished your shopping?” Adoree inquired.  “Then do come and help me match some rose du Barry.  I’ve no more eye for color than Francois.  Pink is just another shade of blue to me.”

“Gee!  He’s alive, all right,” piped the small boy, whose eyes were glued upon the poodle.  “Ma, what does a live dog cost?”

Lorelei felt herself flushing uncomfortably under the stares of the onlookers, and, glad to escape, she moved away beside the undisturbed cause of all the furore.

Miss Demorest seemed genuinely delighted at this encounter.  She clung to her companion, chattering vivaciously; then, when the rose du Barry had been matched, she suggested tea.

“We’ll run right over to the Waldorf—­my car is outside.”  But Lorelei declined, explaining lamely that she did not care for public places.

“Really?”

“Really.  People point out one—­and I get enough of that.”

The dancer’s expression and tone changed abruptly.  “I supposed you were like all the others.”

“Well, I’m not.  When I’m away from the theater I try to forget it.  I—­hate the business.”

The reply, which came with sincere feeling, widened Lorelei’s eyes with uncontrollable surprise.

“Here, too,” said Adoree Demorest, quietly.  “But I’m not allowed to forget it.  Our first meeting made me think you were—­out with banners.  I was hired on that occasion to be naughty.  What do you say to some real tea at my house?  Just you and I?”

Lorelei’s heart sank at thought of that gaudy machine outside, but there was an honest appeal in the speaker’s eyes, and, moreover, the memory of her own obligation rose to prevent her from appearing ungrateful.  “I’d be delighted,” she falsified, and, gurgling with appreciation, Miss Demorest hurried her toward the nearest exit.  In the street, however, Adoree paused, and her next words showed that she was not wanting in womanly intuition.

“I sha’n’t inflict you with a ride in that circus-wagon.  It’s all right for me, but—­you’re one of the decent kind.  If you have a reputation it won’t do to parade it in a show-case.  We’ll take a taxi.”  Lorelei’s relief must have been obvious, for Adoree sped swiftly to the corner, then was back again without the dog.  “If there’s anything more conspicuous than a blonde with a white poodle,” she explained, “it’s two blondes with two poodles.”  Then, she flung herself into the cab and slammed the door.