skin; how graceful and rounded her naked neck and arms and her slender, perfectly proportioned legs in her black culottes and stockings. Marjorie was thinking of men and, with regard to them, she appreciated that never had she known a girl who must be more desirable, physically, than Clara Seeley.
"What did they do to you different from what you're used to?" Clara formed her query at last and met Marjorie's eyes squarely; and Marjorie could not answer. So Clara said, "I know. A few from your bunch have had their arms around me. Not to-night; a couple of 'em tried to but all space was under lease. But they have and sometimes they've sort of drowsed, dancing—forgotten themselves, as it was; I mean forgotten me, Molly, the manicure girl. So they held me in those moments like they would a girl friend of theirs from home—like they would you. Tight enough but nothin' back of it, Marjorie; no bite! I know what you mean. That's what you're here for; to get the snap, ain't it? Honest? Then what're you sore about? Aren't you here to play the real game?"
"What game?"
"Oh, my game," said Clara. "And your game—when you're away from home and mamma and papa; any girl's game who's got a decent looking face and a figure that ain't actually repulsive. Hell—'scuse me, Marjorie, but I never did take serious the first four or five commandments—do you suppose there's a man born who wouldn't 'get' a good-looking girl if he could? You been brought up at home, I understand; Evanston. How many of you happened?"
Marjorie flushed slightly. "Just me," she told. "I never had any brothers or sisters."
"So papa and mamma both had all their time to give
