Hélène lay back among the cushions, looking at her.
"Haven't you any time at all for me?" she asked, wistfully.
Valerie was thinking of Neville: "Not—very—much I am afraid—"
"Can't you spare me an hour now and then?"
"Y—yes; I'll try."
There was a silence. The mantel clock struck, and Valerie glanced up. Hélène d'Enver rose, stood still a moment, then stepped forward and took both of Valerie's hands:
"Can't we be friends? I do need one; and I like you so much. You've the eyes that make a woman easy. There are none like yours in New York."
Valerie laughed, uncertainly.
"Your friends wouldn't care for me," she said. "I don't believe there is any real place at all for me in this city except among the few men and women I already know."
"Won't you include me among the number? There is a place for you in my heart."