her for it. 

 “Trouble!” I chirped. “Trouble never troubles me. I just worked too hard, that’s all, and acquired an awful ‘tired.’ All work and no play makes Jill a nervous wreck, you know.” 

 At that the elephantine Flossie wagged a playful 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 comedy actresses, you know; I remember her part called for a good deal of kicking about in a short Dutch costume—came in rather late, after the performance. She was wearing a regal-looking fur-edged evening wrap, and she still wore all her make-up”—out of the corner of my eye I saw Sis sink back with an air of resignation—“and she threw open the door and said— 

 “Yes-s-s-s!” hissed the Whalens again, wetting their lips. 

 “—said: ‘Folks, I just had a wire from mother, up in Maine. The boy has the croup. I’m scared green. I hate to spoil the party, but don’t ask me to stay. I want to go home to the flat and blubber. I didn’t even stop to take my make-up off. My God! If anything should happen to the boy!—Well, have a good time without me. Jim’s waiting outside.’” A silence. 

 Then—“Who was Jim?” asked Flossie, hopefully. 

 “Jim was her husband, of course. 

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