read, it was discovered that she had inherited che bulk of his huge fortune. By the time she had come into this money, she had long since tired of the trap-drummer and had passed on to other interests. It could hardly be said that Harlem, generally speaking, had received the tidings of Lasca's wayward adventures with approval, even with equanimity, but those who knew her apparently liked her, and the rest perhaps, when she returned, so thought one of Mary's informants, would be won over by her money, her beauty, her wit, and her charm. She is certainly unconventional, this woman had told her, but she is also Lasca: to know her is usually to forgive her. Now that she had seen the photograph, Mary believed she could understand.
Yes, she's back. Adora was speaking once more. I forget how short a time you've lived here: it's only a little over two years, isn't it? Good God! . . . Adora's eyes appeared to be literally looking back into the past. . . . I can remember when there wasn't any Harlem, when we used to go to Marshall's on Fifty-third Street for a bite to eat and to listen to Florence. I can still remember that red and green wall-paper. I wish I had some like it now! . . . Adora sighed. . . . Well, they've had cabarets and cabaret entertainers since then, but I don't think any of them have quite come up to Marshall's and Florence! Perhaps it seemed better because I was younger. Baron Wilkins's place was downtown then, too. Poor Baron! I don't sup-
