the confusion of toilet articles.  But the collection was not limited to this variety of specimen.  One section of the wall was devoted to telegraph and cable forms, bearing messages of felicitation at the opening of “The Revue of 1913.”  A zoologist would have found the display uninteresting; but a society reporter would have reveled in the names—­and especially in the sentiments—­ inscribed upon the yellow sheets.  Some were addressed to Lorelei Knight, others to Lilas Lynn, her roommate.

Pope found Lorelei completely dressed, in expectation of his arrival.  She wore the white and silver first-act costume of the Fairy Princess.  Both she and her mother were plainly nonplussed at the appearance of their caller; but Mrs. Knight recovered quickly from the shock and said agreeably: 

“Lorelei was frightened to death at your message yesterday.  She was almost afraid to let you interview her after what you wrote about Adoree Demorest.”

Pope shrugged.  “Your daughter is altogether different to the star of the Palace Garden, Mrs. Knight.  Demorest trades openly upon her notoriety and—­I don’t like bad women.  New York never would have taken her up if she hadn’t been advertised as the wickedest woman in Europe, for she can neither act, sing, nor dance.  However, she’s become the rage, so I had to include her in my series of articles.  Now, Miss Knight has made a legitimate success as far as she has gone.”

He turned to the girl herself, who was smiling at him as she had smiled since his entrance.  He did not wonder at the prominence her beauty had brought her, for even at this close range her make-up could not disguise her loveliness.  The lily had been painted, to be sure, but the sacrilege was not too noticeable; and he knew that the cheeks beneath their rouge were faintly colored, that the lashes under the heavy beading were long and dark and sweeping.  As for her other features, no paint could conceal their perfection.  Her forehead was linelessly serene, her brows were straight and too well-defined to need the pencil.  As for her eyes, too much had been written about them already; they had proven the despair of many men, or so rumor had it.  He saw that they had depths and shadows and glints of color that he could not readily define.  Her nose, pronounced perfect by experts on noses, seemed faultless indeed.  Her mouth was no tiny cupid’s bow, but generous enough for character.  Of course, the lips were glaringly red now, but the expression was none the less sweet and friendly.

“There’s nothing ‘legitimate’ about musical shows,” she told him, in reply to his last remark, “and I can’t act or sing or dance as well as Miss Demorest.”

“You don’t need to; just let the public rest its eyes on you and it will be satisfied—­anyhow, it should be.  Of course, everybody flatters you.  Has success turned your head?”

Mrs. Knight answered for her daughter.  “Lorelei has too much sense for that.  She succeeded easily, but she isn’t spoiled.”