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The dressing room was crowded to its limit, paint brushes were being washed and stained hands scrubbed at the line of faucets that occupied two sides of the room; girls were hurrying into their street clothes, while others, coming in for the night life, were getting into aprons and paint dresses; some few who were staying for the night life were curled up on the wide couches, exchanging comments with their friends among the hurrying crowd while they refreshed themselves with crackers or cakes. "I quite agree with you," said David, simply, and, turning to Isabella, he took her gently by the hand. "Come, Miss Dallas. This is no place for you." "Him, Uncle Jen?".

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