“I don’t know why I told you all this,” she half apologized to Lorelei.  “It has upset me, as it always does.”

“How did you ever grow up and—­educate yourself?”

“I hardly know.  Some neighbors took me in at first, and I worked for them; then I got a job in a dry-goods store, and finally in the corset department.  I filled out when I began to get something to eat and I developed a good figure.  Finally I got to be a model.  I was quick to learn, and when rich dames came in I watched them.  I became good-looking, too, although not so pretty as I am now, for I couldn’t put the time or the money on it.  But I was pretty enough, and I seemed to appeal strongly to men.  Some girls do, you know, without understanding how or why.  First, it was the buyer for our department; he lost his head completely, and, although he was married and I didn’t care for him, I realized he could do me good.  I was seventeen then; he taught me to dress and to take care of myself—­he had wonderful taste in such things.  It was his affair with me that finally cost him his place—­and his wife, too, for that matter.  When I’d got all he had I left him and came to New York.  The rest isn’t a pretty story, for I went the way most girls do who have that appeal I spoke about.”

Miss Lynn made this declaration calmly as she busied herself with the glass her servant had fetched.  She dissolved a portion of the powder in the spoon, then carefully transferred the liquid into the cap of a pearl-and-gold fountain-pen.  Inserting the open end of the receptacle into first one, then the other nostril, she inhaled the contents.

“What are you doing?” asked Lorelei, curiously.

“Something to quiet my nerves.  I—­wonder why I told you all this?” She eyed her guest speculatively, then shrugged.  “Well, since we’re to be neighbors, we must be friends, and there’s no harm done.  Now that Jarvis and I are engaged, he’s awfully particular about the company I keep, but he likes you.  How different they act when they’re in earnest!  He even wants me to quit work now, but I like the excitement—­it’s better than waiting.”  She glanced at her wrist-watch and drew herself together.  “Our time is up, dear; we must get back to the show-shop.”

CHAPTER XII

Lorelei exploded her bomb at breakfast Sunday morning, and the effect was all she had dreaded.  Fortunately, Jim had gone out, so she had only to combat her mother’s panic-stricken objections and her father’s weak persuasions.  So keen, however, was the girl’s humiliation at Merkle’s disclosure that Mrs. Knight dared not go to the lengths she would otherwise have allowed herself, and Lorelei’s merciless accusations left little to be said in self-defense.  Of course, the usual tears followed, likewise repetitions of the time-worn plea that it had all been done for Lorelei’s own good and had been prompted by unselfish love for her.