230 Rhea sprang, teeth flashing. "Whose grave is this?" he inquired of a man who was standing near it. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. "Well, how goes it?" he asked. ” He recovered himself. She was enchanted by the beauty of the other girls, who were magically transformed into fairies and elves by makeup into seemingly unfamiliar yet glamorous new people. She still had her letter of credit.
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