“What is it?” asked Remsen. “A pass to Paradise? She looked as cheered-up as if she were getting something of the kind.”
“It’s a commutation ticket to Hades, first-class,” was the actress’s Delphic response. “But the poor child won’t know it till she gets there.”
CHAPTER IV
HOPE, which is credited with various magic properties, had kindled a sickly sort of sub-glow in Darcy Cole’s pasty face as she arrived at Miss Greene’s address, to keep her appointment. Part of it subsided at sight of the indication that the elevator was still on strike. The remainder had vanished long before she had surmounted the four flights of stairs and stood panting dolorously before Gloria Greene. That composed person feigned polite surprise.
“Why, what’s the matter, Darcy?”
“Those awful—pouf!—stairs. How—whoof-uff!—d’ you ever—whoo-oo-oof!—do it?”
“Two steps at a time,” explained the actress practically, “cuts the distance in half.”
Darcy looked skeptical. “It would kill me,” she declared.
“Very likely, as you are now. We’re going to change all that.”
The gleam returned into Darcy’s big, dull eyes. “Yes?” said she eagerly. “How?”