"Sure. There's only one Hammon. But nix on the newspaper story;
this is a private affair."

"Never let us speak ill of a poor Pittsburgh millionaire,"
laughed Pope. "Scandal must never darken the soot of that
village." He turned as Slosson, the press-agent of the show,
entered with a bundle of photographs.

"Here are the new pictures of Lorelei for your story, old man,"
Mr. Slosson said. "Bergman will appreciate the boost for one of
his girls. Help yourself to those you want. If you need any more
stuff I'll supply it. Blushing country lass just out of the
alfalfa belt--first appearance on any stage--instantaneous hit,
and a record for pulchritude in an aggregation where the homeliest
member is a Helen of Troy. Every appearance a riot; stage-door
Johns standing on their heads; members of our best families dying
to lead her to the altar; under five-year contract with Bergman,
and refuses to marry until the time's up. Delancey Page, the
artist, wants to paint her, and says she's the perfect American
type at last. Say, Bergman can certainly pick 'em, can't he? I'll
frame it for a special cop at the back door, detailed to hold off
the matrimony squad of society youths, if you can use it."

"Don't go to the trouble," Pope hastily deprecated. "I know the
story. Now I'm going to leave and let Miss Lynn dress."

"Don't go on my account," urged Lilas. "This room is like a subway
station, and I've got so I could 'change' in Bryant Park at noon
and never shock a policeman."