These people knew her story--of that her first long talk with Carry Fisher had left no doubt: she was publicly branded as the heroine of a "queer" episode--but instead of shrinking from her as her own friends had done, they received her without question into the easy promiscuity of their lives.

They swallowed her past as easily as they did Miss Anstell's, and with no apparent sense of any difference in the size of the mouthful: all they asked was that she should--in her own way, for they recognized a diversity of gifts--contribute as much to the general amusement as that graceful actress, whose talents, when off the stage, were of the most varied order.

Lily felt at once that any tendency to be "stuck-up," to mark a sense of differences and distinctions, would be fatal to her continuance in the Gormer set.

To be taken in on such terms--and into such a world!--was hard enough to the lingering pride in her; but she realized, with a pang of self-contempt, that to be excluded from it would, after all, be harder still.

For, almost at once, she had felt the insidious charm of slipping back into a life where every material difficulty was smoothed away.