“Will you?  I mean live—­”

The dancer laughed.  “No, no.  If I did either they’d fire you out.  But I’ll come often, and we’ll have the dearest parties—­just we two, without any men.  We’ll let our hair down, and cook and—­will you look at that gas-stove?  I could eat it.”

It was impossible to resist such infectious spirits.  Lorelei began to see sunshine, and before she knew it she was laughing, in the best of humor with herself and her surroundings.  Adoree, clad now in a nameless, formless garment which she had discovered in a closet, her own modish belongings safely rolled up in a sheet, had covered her head with a towel turban and incased her feet in an old pair of shoes.  Thus equipped, she fell upon the task of regeneration with fanatic zeal.  She became grimy; a smear of soot disfigured her face; her skirt dragged, her shoe-tops flopped, and the heels clattered; but she was hilariously happy.

Side by side the girls worked; they forgot their luncheon, then sent the sad-faced footman in search of a delicatessen store, and ate ravenously with a newspaper for table-cloth.  By evening the place found itself for once in its life clean and orderly, and the two occupants dressed and went out to a near-by hotel for dinner.  Returning, they put the final touches to their task.

When Adoree left, late that night, she kissed her friend, saying: 

“Thank you for the loveliest Sunday I ever had.  It was splendid, and I’ll come again to-morrow.”

The theatrical profession is full of women whose lives are flawless; hence it had not been difficult for Lorelei to build up a reputation that insured respect, although her connection with a Bergman show made the task more difficult than it would otherwise have been.  During the two years of her stage experience no scandal had attached to her name, and she had therefore begun to feel secure.  In that period she had met many men of the usual types that are attracted by footlight favorites, and they had pressed attentions upon her, but so long as she had been recognized as the Lady Unobtainable they had not forced their unwelcome advances.  Now, however, that a scurrilous newspaper story had associated her name with that of a wealthy man, she began to note a change.  The Hammon-Lynn affair was already notorious; Lorelei’s part in it led the stage-broken wiseacres to doubt her innocence, and their altered attitude soon became apparent to her.  There was a difference also in the bearing of certain members of the company.  She heard conversations retailed at second hand by envious chorus-mates; in her hearing detached remarks were dropped that offended her.  Bergman’s advances had been only another disquieting symptom of what she had to expect—­an indication of the new color her reputation had assumed.