Surprising as was the quick transition in the girl's manner, and absurd as was the juxtaposition of automobiles and red flannel petticoats, the white misery of Alice Greggory's face and the weary despair of her attitude were tragic--specially to one who knew her story as did Billy Neilson.

And it was because Billy did know her story that she did not make the mistake now of offering pity.
Instead, she said with a bright smile, and a casual manner that gave no hint of studied labor: "Well, as it happens, Miss Greggory, what I want to-day has nothing whatever to do with automobiles or red flannel petticoats.

It's a matter of straight business." (How Billy blessed the thought that had so suddenly come to her!) "Your mother tells me you play accompaniments.
Now a girls' club, of which I am a member, is getting up an operetta for charity, and we need an accompanist.

There is no one in the club who is able, and at the same time willing, to spend the amount of time necessary for practice and rehearsals.

So we had decided to hire one outside, and I have been given the task of finding one.