“Yes,” she said, “I know one person.”
“Where does your friend live?”
In her reticule was the paper on which he had written the address of the Art Students’ League, and, as an afterthought, his own address.
Rue lifted the blue silk bag, opened it, took out her purse and found the paper.
“One Hundred and Six, West Fifty-fifth Street,” she read; “Studio No. 10.”
“Why, that isn’t far!” said the blonder of the two. “We are going that way. We’ll take you there.”
“I don’t know—I don’t know him very well––”
“Is it a man?”
“Yes. He comes from my town, Gayfield.”
“Oh! I guess that’s all right,” said the other woman, laughing. “You got to be leery of these men, little one. Come on; we’ll show you.”