Kent’s mouth opened. It was the first time he had seen Naomi cry, had witnessed a woman’s tears without suspicion. Usually they meant that she wanted something.
“Don’t mind me!” She met his astonishment with a swift effort to pull herself together. “I’ve had a rotten day.”
“How, my dear?”
“Oh, just the realization that to-night it’s this, and in two years it’ll be ham and eggs and a lunch counter—if I’m lucky.”
“Nonsense!”
“Oh, yes! I’ll just drop out and you’ll forget me—like the rest. What’s become of Emy Steward—and Cora Greene—and Ray Granville? You don’t even know and you used to give parties for them like this one.”
He was silent, knowing she spoke the truth. Like comets across a glittering sky those beautiful girls had gleamed and gone. Gone when their beauty had gone, vanished into the night that engulfed them, too proud or too forgotten to accept the humiliation of charity.
“We don’t last long, boy,” she added grimly. “And I’m one of those who can’t keep on fooling herself. I’ve had a beast of a day.”
“Hence the ranch idea in Oregon.”
“Yes.” A queer twist lifted her lips—then dropped [135] ]them. “Inspiration, I call it. The Limited that will carry me away from the poorhouse!”