doorway. The pins were gone from her hair and it lay in a yellow tangle
on her shoulders, bare and milk-white. Looking at her sister with round,
shocked eyes, she said:

"It's just come to me how awful it is that two young, beautiful and
aristocratic ladies should have to hunt so hard for nuggets. It's tragic,
Lorry. It's _scandalous_," and she disappeared.

Lorry couldn't read after that. She put out the light and made plans
in the dark.

The next day she rose, grimly determined, and girded herself for action.
In the morning, giving Fong the orders, she told him she was going to
have a dinner, and in the afternoon went to see Mrs. Kirkham.

Mrs. Kirkham had once been a friend of Minnie Alston's and she was the
only one of that now diminishing group with whom Lorry felt at ease. Had
the others known of the visit and its cause they would have thrown up
their hands and said, "Just like that girl." Mrs. Kirkham was nobody now,
the last person to go to for help in social matters. In the old days in
Nevada her husband had been George Alston's paymaster, and she had held
her head high and worn diamonds.

But that was ages ago. Long before the date of this story the high head
had been lowered and the diamonds sold, all but those that encircled the
miniature of her only baby, dead before the Con-Virginia slump. She lived
in a little flat up toward the cemeteries, second floor, door to the
left, and please press the push button. In her small parlor the pictures
of the Bonanza Kings hung on the walls and she was wont, an old rheumatic
figure in shiny black with the miniature pinned at her withered throat,