The door of the suite stood open. A big square room with a room opening off it on either side. Modern bleached furniture, chintz, red roses in a vase, a bowl of fruit wrapped in cellophane and tied at the top with a twist of scarlet.

“Why, it’s quite nice!” Dina Drake said. “I mean—–”

Bay Husack caught it deftly. “This is wonderful! Roughing it in Alaska. Dina, look at those roses!”

Somewhat abruptly—for her—Bridie carried on with her role as professional welcomer. “Quite nice or wonderful, either way it’s the best we got, and anybody doesn’t fancy what’s inside, why, anyway they sure can’t complain about what’s outside, with old McKinley staring you in the face. Look at this folding partition thing, it folds back on itself, it’s made out of one those new-fangled things—you know—plexidextry sillyfite or whatever, it folds up like velvet and there’s your kitchen, your stove, your frigid, and any time you relish a nice little chop or a bit of steak your own cooking, why, downstairs is the supermarket, whatever you want, name it they’ve got it. Course, here in Alaska, we’re partial to moose, but you’ve got to shoot your own, or a friend gives it to you.”

“Moose!” Dina said in a kind of frigid fury. “I don’t know anything about cooking.” And began ostentatiously to open luggage. She did not glance at Bridie, she flung back the luggage tops, everything was embalmed in unwrinkled tissue paper that gave out an indefinite but sophisticated scent. It could be traced to nothing commonplace such as roses or carnations or violets.

“You and me, both. I’d starve if I had to eat my own cooking. Baranof folks invite me to dinner seven nights in the week. Saves my life.” Bridie paused to sniff audibly. “My, that’s an odd perfume. Real interesting, though, like that candy they call Turkish delight tastes, sweet, but it’s got bitter almonds in it.”

Ott Decker looked at her quickly, but Bridie’s face was bland.

“Tie that one, Dina,” Bay Husack said, grinning.

Dina Drake lifted a dress from the bag. “I wonder if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Ballantyne. I’ll have to change before lunch.”

Bridie made a clucking sound of dismay as she scudded toward the door. “Ott, come on. The poor child hasn’t even had a chance to powder her nose, us standing here.” At the door she turned and peered back at the slim arrogant girl in the suit with the artfully simple line; then at the little heap of luxuries so carelessly thrown on the couch—the soft supple handbag, the soft supple gloves, the soft supple caramel mink coat.

“All the girls will be there today,” Bridie said. “The office crowd and the wives and the clubs and so on. If you want to give the Baranof girls a treat, wear what you’re wearing. If they had a suit like that they’d never take it off, only to sleep. Here in Alaska we keep track of what they’re wearing Outside, but we don’t always get to wear it. Of course, we’re a fur-bearing fur-wearing place, but that mink coat of yours—dear, it’s like looking in the jewelry-store windows in Seattle. You don’t think of those pieces on yourself. You just like to look at them and dream. Well, good-bye now.”