"Sit beside me," continued Mrs. Perhaps her odd beauty—and that too was natural—stirred these thoughts into being. Something seemed to dredge up from the recesses of her memory and she brightened. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. “Showtime!” Martin cried. “Home, of course,” she answered. " Mr. See!" she added, tearing the rag from her head,—"I had beautiful black hair once. " Mrs. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. “I have come from a very unfashionable quarter,” she said, “and I do not think that I have been inside a milliner’s shop for a year. It creaked slightly. I don’t think that the rest of the people here like us very well, do they, Arthur, so we’re obliged to be friends.
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