"Dust! What do you mean? How old do you think I am? That you should say
that to me! I've made millions for you, and now--"

"Now, now, Sally, be a good girl. That's all rot about that dress being
lucky. You've grown out of this part; that's all. We'll find another
play--"

"I want that dress."

Sid Hahn flushed uncomfortably. "Well, if you must know, I gave it
away."

"To whom?"

"To--to Josie Fifer. She took a notion to it, and so I told her she
could have it." Then, as Sarah Haddon rose, dried her eyes, and began to
straighten her hat: "Where are you going?" He trailed her to the door
worriedly. "Now, Sally, don't do anything foolish. You're just tired and
overstrung. Where are you--"

"I am going to see Josie Fifer."

"Now, look here, Sarah!"

But she was off, and Sid Hahn could only follow after, the showman in
him anticipating the scene that was to follow. When he reached the
fourth floor of the storehouse Sarah Haddon was there ahead of him. The
two women--one tall, imperious, magnificent in furs; the other shrunken,
deformed, shabby--stood staring at each other from opposites sides of
the worktable. And between them, in a crumpled, grey-black heap, lay the