"Charming, my dear! But why do you wear a veil? It really spoils the whole effect and you do not need it."
"My face!" Betty seemed to shrink within herself. "The birthmark, you know. I—I find the people here look at me so strangely."
Her employer shot a keen glance at her.
"You must not permit yourself to grow self-conscious. The mark is not an absolute disfigurement, as I have told you, and even if it were, it is irremediable. You can only make yourself needlessly wretched by thinking morbidly of it." Her level tones sharpened with the note of stern authority which the girl remembered. "Remove the veil at once and do not wear it when you go on an assignment for me."
Betty's fingers trembled as she obeyed. Could Mrs. Atterbury have divined her subterfuge? When she raised her eyes, however, the other woman was smiling graciously.
"Ah! that is better. The fur brings out your color, my dear. Remember to hold no communication with anyone except the lady you are going to meet."
The Café de Luxe was the most cosmopolitan of the newer establishments which had sprung up mushroomlike throughout the theatre district of the city to meet the latest demands of an amusement-crazed public. Garishly appointed, it was as blatant in character as the clientele to whom for the most part it catered. The many mirrors and dazzling-colored lights, combined with the blare of the orchestra and the heated, heavily perfumed air, confused Betty for a moment and a sensation of faintness stole over her.
Through the parted lobby curtains she beheld a vista of crowded tables each with its mutually engrossed couple, and behind them in a roped-off square the dancers, jerking and swaying like marionettes. As she hesitated, a small, white-gloved hand was laid upon her arm and a merry voice, glad with surprise, sounded in her ears.
"Ruth! Where have you been all this while? Everyone is asking about you! Fancy meeting you here! Isn't this simply fascinating?"
Betty turned slowly. A plump, fair-haired girl with a pretty, doll-like face stood beside her. She was dressed in the extreme of fashion but valley lilies instead of orchids were clustered at her belt. Betty bestowed upon her a slow, deliberate stare of non-recognition, which the other returned in wide-eyed bewilderment which swiftly changed to confusion and dismay when her eyes encountered the birthmark. With a crimson face, she murmured a halting apology and turning, fled precipitately. Betty watched the stranger until she vanished in the congested group at the entrance door, then made her way into the restaurant.