“Well, I’ve brought you a few things!” declared Gila, in a most offensive tone.  “Paul Courtland asked me to come and see what I could do for you.”  She swung her moleskin trappings about and pointed to the box.  “I don’t believe in giving money, not often,” she declared, with a tilt of her nasty little chin that suddenly seemed to curve out in a hateful, Satanic point, “but I don’t mind giving a little lift in other ways to persons who are truly worthy, you know.  I’ve brought you a few evening dresses that I’m done with.  It may help you to get a position playing for the movies, perhaps; or if you don’t know rag-time, perhaps you might act—­they’ll take almost anybody, I understand, if they have good clothes.  Besides, I’m going to give you an introduction to a girls’ employment club.  They have a hall and hold dances once a week and you get acquainted.  It only costs you ten cents a week and it will give you a place to spend your evenings.  If you join that you’ll need evening dresses for the dances.  Of course I understand some of the girls just go in their street suits, but you stand a great deal better chance of having a good time if you are dressed attractively.  And then they say men often go in there evenings to look for a stenographer, or an actor, or some kind of a worker, and they always pick out the prettiest.  Dress goes a great way if you use it rightly.  Now there’s a frock in here—­” Gila stooped and untied the cord on the box.  “This frock cost a hundred and fifty dollars, and I never wore it but once!”

She held up a tattered blue net adorned with straggling, crushed, artificial rosebuds, its sole pretension to a waist being a couple of straps of silver tissue attached to a couple of rags of blue net.  It looked for all the world like a draggled butterfly.

“It’s torn in one or two places,” pursued Gila’s ready tongue, “but it’s easily mended.  I wore it to a dance and somebody stepped on the hem.  I suppose you are good at mending.  A girl in your position ought to know how to sew.  My maid usually mends things like this with a thread of itself.  You can pull one out along the hem, I should think.  Then here is a pink satin.  It needs cleaning.  They don’t charge more than two or three dollars—­or perhaps you might use gasolene.  I had slippers to match, but I couldn’t find but one.  I brought that along.  I thought you might do something with it.  They were horribly expensive—­made to order, you know.  Then this cerise chiffon, all covered with sequins, is really too showy for a girl in your station, but in case you get a chance to act you might need it, and anyhow I never cared for it.  It isn’t becoming to me.  Here’s an indigo charmeuse with silver trimmings.  I got horribly tired of it, but you will look stunning in it.  It might even help you catch a rich husband; who knows!  There’s half a dozen pairs of white evening gloves!  I might have had them cleaned, but if you can use them I can get new ones.  And there’s a bundle of old silk stockings!  They haven’t any toes or heels much, but I suppose you can darn them.  And of course you can’t afford to buy expensive silk stockings!”