finger at me. "Oh, now, you can't make us believe that,
just because we're from the country! We know all about
you gay New Yorkers, with your Bohemian ways and your
midnight studio suppers, and your cigarettes, and
cocktails and high jinks!"

Memory painted a swift mental picture of Dawn O'Hara
as she used to tumble into bed after a whirlwind day at
the office, too dog-tired to give her hair even one half
of the prescribed one hundred strokes of the brush. But
in turn I shook a reproving forefinger at Flossie.

"You've been reading some naughty society novel! One
of those millionaire-divorce-actress-automobile novels.
Dear, dear! Shall I, ever forget the first New York
actress I ever met; or what she said!"

I felt, more than saw, a warning movement from Sis.
But the three Whalens had hitched forward in their
chairs.

"What did she say?" gurgled Flossie. "Was it
something real reezk?"

"Well, it was at a late supper--a studio supper given
in her honor," I confessed.

"Yes-s-s-s " hissed the Whalens.

"And this actress--she was one of those musical