"It's fun to do it. I like to do it."

And then Horace came out with a FAUX PAS.

"I should think you'd detest it," he remarked succinctly. "The
people behind me were making remarks about your bosom."

Marcia blushed fiery red.

"I can't help that," she said quickly. "The dance to me is only
a sort of acrobatic stunt. Lord, it's hard enough to do! I rub
liniment into my shoulders for an hour every night."

"Do you have--fun while you're on the stage?"

"Uh-huh--sure! I got in the habit of having people look at me,
Omar, and I like it."

"Hm!" Horace sank into a brownish study.

"How's the Brazilian trimmings?"

"Hm!" repeated Horace, and then after a pause: "Where does the
play go from here?"

"New York."

"For how long?"