ballet you are an artist, but in a revue a première danseuse is just one up from a hoofer. I think audiences prefer hoofers. I'd like to be an artist, people take you more seriously."
"Perhaps you need a new beau."
"I think you've got something there." Lucy laughed ruefully. "Tell me, do you believe Figente will do the Arabian Nights?"
"No—that was big talk to amuse himself."
"I think so too. I must get dressed. I've been thinking about my black ensemble, the one I almost wore Sunday. It isn't becoming to me. Black is better for brunettes, so I'm giving it to you."
"But it cost a fortune!"
"It didn't cost a thing—I charged it."
"You're the limit. You'd better think it over. There comes Mam'selle with the mail." She returned quickly. "Five for you, one for me."
"Who's yours from?"
"Clem, nosey."
"Here's one from Mother. I'll save hers to read last. Here's a card from Peggy Watson. She and Salvado are playing the Orpheum circuit. Her writing is terrible, I can't make it out. The rest are ads. That means I'll have three more of the same ads at the theatre. I always get two of each. Mother says she and Aunt Mabel have been on a cleaning spree. They painted the kitchen cream like this bedroom. This week she's making curtains with red dots for it. And a brown wool crepe for Mabel. She's going to get her an electric cake mixer and oh! she's coming home Saturday. I'm glad. I was afraid she'd want to stay in Congress. She says your family is fine but they miss you."
"I suppose I ought to write oftener, but when I do my mother writes that I'm leading a fast life and complains because I'm not home yet and I feel guilty because I know I'll never go home to stay."
"I'd miss you."
"Not as much as I'd miss you."
They put their cheeks together in a sudden awkward gesture of affection.
"I'm going to call the superintendent to take out that sofa and bring in a studio couch. You can have half of my bureau," Lucy planned.
"Not now, I have to be at Ilona's at ten thirty, and it's ten now," Vida said hastily. She read her letter. "What do you know—Clem's
