Athalie

Doris came in about midnight, her coat and hat plastered with sleet,

her shoes soaking. She looked rather forlornly at the bowl of hot milk

and crackers which Athalie brought from the kitchenette.

"I'd give next week's salary for a steak," she said, taking the bowl

and warming her chilled hands on it.

"You know what meat costs," said Athalie. "I'd give it to you for

supper if I could."

Doris seated herself by the radiator; Athalie knelt and drew off the

wet shoes, unbuttoned the garters and rolled the stockings from the

icy feet.

"I had another chance to-night: they were college boys: some of the

girls went--" remarked Doris disjointedly, forcing herself to eat the

crackers and milk because it was hot, and snuggling into the knitted

slippers which Athalie brought. After a moment or two she lifted her

pretty, impudent face and sniffed inquiringly.

"Who's been smoking? You?"

"No."

"Who? Genevieve?"

"No. Who do you suppose called?"

"Search me."

"C. Bailey, Junior!"

Doris looked blank, then: "Oh, that boy you had an affair with about a

hundred years ago?"

"That same boy," said Athalie, smiling.

"He'll come again next century I suppose--like a comet," shrugged

Doris, nestling closer to the radiator.

Athalie said nothing; her sister slowly stirred the crackers in the

milk and from time to time took a spoonful.

"Next time," she said presently, "I shall go out to supper when an

attractive man asks me. I know how to take care of myself--and the

supper, too."

Athalie started to say something, and stopped. Perhaps she remembered

C. Bailey, Jr., and that she had promised to dine and sup with him,

"anywhere."

She said in a low voice: "It's all right, I suppose, if you know the

man."

"I don't care whether I know him or not as long as it's a good

restaurant."

"Don't talk that way, Doris!"

"Why not? It's true."

There was a silence. Doris set aside the empty bowl, yawned, looked at

the clock, yawned again.

"This is too late for Catharine," she said, drowsily.

"I know it is. Who are the people she's with?"

"Genevieve Hunting--I don't know the men:--some of Genevieve's

friends."

"I hope it's nobody from Winton's."

There had been in the Greensleeve family, a tacit understanding that

it was not the thing to accept social attentions from anybody

connected with the firm which employed them. Winton, the male milliner

and gown designer, usually let his models alone, being in perpetual

dread of his wife; but one of the unhealthy looking sons had become a

nuisance to the girls employed there. Recently he had annoyed

Catharine, and the girl was afraid she might have to lunch with him or

lose her position.