"Hell! I thought you was a man," she said. "Is this a new gag?"
Mrs. Cresswell looked down at herself involuntarily and smiled wanly. She did look like a man, with her hat and coat and short hair. The woman peered at her doubtingly. She was, as Mrs. Cresswell noticed, a young woman, once pretty, perhaps, and a little over-dressed.
"Are you walking?" she asked.
"What do you mean?" asked Mrs. Cresswell, and then in a moment it flashed upon her. She took the woman's arm and walked with her. Suddenly she stopped.
"Where's--Nell's?"
The woman frowned. "Oh, that's a swell place," she said. "Senators and millionaires. Too high for us to fly."
Mrs. Cresswell winced. "But where is it?" she asked.
"We'll walk by it if you want to."
And Mary Cresswell walked in another world. Up from the ground of the drowsy city rose pale gray forms; pale, flushed, and brilliant, in silken rags. Up and down they passed, to and fro, looking and gliding like sheeted ghosts; now dodging policemen, now accosting them familiarly.
"Hello, Elise," growled one big blue-coat.
"Hello, Jack."
"What's this?" and he peered at Mrs. Cresswell, who shrank back.
"Friend of mine. All right."
A horror crept over Mary Cresswell: where had she lived that she had seen so little before? What was Washington, and what was this fine, tall, quiet residence? Was this--"Nell's"?
"Yes, this is it--good-bye--I must--"
"Wait--what is your name?"
"I haven't any name," answered the woman suspiciously.
"Well--pardon me! Here!" and she thrust a bill into the woman's hand.
The girl stared. "Well, you're a queer one! Thanks. Guess I'll turn in."
Mary Cresswell turned to see her husband and his companions ascending the steps of the quiet mansion. She stood uncertainly and looked at the opening and closing door. Then a policeman came by and looked at her.
"Come, move on," he brusquely ordered. Her vacillation promptly vanished, and she resolutely mounted the steps. She put out her hand to ring, but the door flew silently open and a man-servant stood looking at her.
"I have some friends here," she said, speaking coarsely.
"You will have to be introduced," said the man. She hesitated and started to turn away. Thrusting her hand in her pocket it closed upon her husband's card-case. She presented a card. It worked a rapid transformation in the servant's manner, which did not escape her.
"Come in," he invited her.
She did not stop at the outstretched arm of the cloakman, but glided quickly up the stairs toward a vision of handsome women and strains of music. Harry Cresswell was sitting opposite and bending over an impudent blue-and-blonde beauty. Mary slipped straight across to him and leaned across the table. The hat fell off, but she let it go.