Her own maid here, a prisoner too! It-it was impossible; she had seen Marie driven off in a taxi before entering her Cadillac en route to the Waldorf.

“Inside,” said the woman, shoving Marie into the room; and then she entered, planting herself, arms akimbo, before the door and confronting the two beauties, mistress and servant, but equals now in their confinement.

“Marie!” exclaimed Marcia, for once genuinely glad to see her erstwhile disdained maid.

The blond soubrette turned and her face expressed incredulous surprise.

“Mam’selle,” she exclaimed, “they:got you too? Mon Diets, que c’est terrible!”

“All right, all right, never mind the parleyvoo,” interposed the stern, gowned termagant, with a raucous laugh. “Let’s get things straight. You, blondie, your name’s Marie, eh?”

“Yes, Madame,” returned the pretty soubrette.

“You seem to know this other gal?” “Out, Madame, I am her maid.”

“That’s a nifty! Couldn’t have been better arranged. Well, then, Marie, you can keep on workin’ for your mistress. Pretty soon there’ll be gentlemen callers for her and you, too, my pretty one. And I want you to fix her up in. her best make her attractive… a little more rouge, some perfume… everythin’s on that table there.”

Marcia, hearing these words as in a. dream, at last cleared bet mind of the shadows that dung to her and, her eyes furious with vexation, exclaimed, “Just what do you mean? I’ll give you my father’s telephone number; kindly get in touch with him and tell him to get me out of here. I’m getting rather tired of this game.”

The woman regarded her and to Marcia’s indignation her gaze slowly swept the statuesque form of the lovely debutante’s gowned loveliness, as if appraising her treasures through the clinging fabric which accentuated the splendor of Marcia’s bosom and long, firm thighs.