Produced by MRK
On a train speeding toward New York, in one of the parlour cars twoyoung women sat facing each other, talking and smiling, deeply absorbed.They took little apparent notice of any one else in the car, but most ofthe people near them kept throwing curious glances their way.
These glances differed vastly, as did the thoughts behind them. A tall,genial Westerner, who looked as though he had come from a ranch, smiledfrankly and hungrily on the pair and told himself with emphasis, "Thosetwo girls are fifty-fifty. I'd like a dozen of each brand." And a slimcollege boy with fresh, eager eyes kept darting quick looks from time totime at the older of the two, the blonde. He asked himself confusedly,"How'd I start in with a woman like her?" And exciting pictures rose inhis mind. In the meantime an elderly lady, with a sharp, inquisitiveair, had put down the ages of the girls at twenty-two and thirty.
"They're sisters," she decided, but then she nearly changed her mind.They were such contrasted types. The blonde gave an appearance of sleekand moneyed elegance, with carefully undulated hair, a rounded bust, andpretty features smooth and plump, with a retroussé nose and rich, fulllips, and a manner of easy assurance. The brunette was younger and lessdeveloped, slim and lithe, her curling black hair rebellious, herfeatures more clean-cut and clear, with wide, eager lips and warm browneyes set wide apart.
"Nevertheless, they are sisters," the little lady firmly concluded."The family resemblance is quite unmistakable." And frowning inperplexity, "But if they are sisters," she went on, "why is only one inmourning?" She looked at the younger of the two, who was simply dressedin black; and then at the blonde, whose sable cloak put back from hershoulders revealed a stylish travelling suit. "And why is one rich andthe other poor?"
Meanwhile a young woman nearby, with a fat, discontented face, regardedthe blonde with envy and thought:
"She's an actress with her maid. Why can't Harry allow me a maid, areal clever one like that? Men see these actresses on the stage and getto expecting things from their wives—without being willing to pay forit! Think what that girl could make of me!"
A quiet, able-looking woman sitting just across the aisle, who travelledfor a clothing store, was watching the "maid," the brunette, and wasthinking, "She makes her clothes herself. She has been the beauty ofher small town. She's smart, too, and original. That collar was aclever idea—and that fichu of lace. A pity she's in mourning."
But the large fat man behind the two girls had little thought for thebrunette. His heavy eyes, quite motionless, were upon the older girl.He took in her sensuous shoulders, the rounded contour of her bust, herglossy coiffure, the small, fine hairs at the back of her neck. And hethought, "Yes, she has been loved pretty well." She was talking, and hecould just hear her voice, soft and provocative, like the little glovedhand on her chair. By her eyes, which were of a violet hue, he saw shewas aware of his gaze. Something gleamed in them that sent a thrill fardown into his sluggish soul.
In the meantime a kindly old lady, whose eyes were fixed on thebrunette, noticed how hard she was listening, noticed the freshexpectancy in her parted lips and clear brown eyes, and asked with atouch of sadness:
"I wonder what's waiting for you in New York? I'm af