“All right, Celeste. Anybody up yet?”
“I hardly think so, madame.”
“Well, I’m up and I wish I wasn’t,” announced a girl who appeared at that moment coming down the broad staircase. She entered the room.
“Got a head this morning, eh, Nellie?” said the madame, knowingly.
“Yes, I’ve got a head,” replied Nellie sullenly, “and a grouch.”
“Make it two, Celeste,” said the madame promptly, indicating the bottle. The colored maid poured out another glass of the liquor. Madame threw the paper across the table to the girl.
“There,” she said, “that’s something that will make you worse.”
“Where?” asked the girl, as she caught up the paper.
“Front page, big headlines. You can’t miss it.”
The girl stepped to the window and pushed aside the heavy curtain. In the morning light she was revealed there petite and charming, despite penciled eyebrows and carmined lips. Her figure was daintily proportioned. There was grace in every line. Her deep brown eyes glowed as she read the words Mary Randall had written.