that your name was not mentioned in it. You seemed a little worried yesterday on that score, and it occurred to me I could set your mind wholly at ease."
The vigilance of her attitude relaxed.
"Is that straight? . . . My God! I don't know what would happen if Louey'd find out I'd been blabbing."
"I'm sure he won't find out, unless you choose to tell him. . . . Won't you be generous and ask me to sit down a moment?"
"Of course—I'm so sorry. I'm just having my coffee. Please join me." She rang for two extra services.
Vance had drunk two cups of coffee less than half an hour before, and I marvelled at his enthusiasm for this atrocious hotel beverage.
"I was a belated spectator of the 'Scandals' last night," he remarked in a negligent, conversational tone. "I missed the revue earlier in the season.—How is it you yourself were so late in seeing it?"
"I've been so busy," she confided. "I was rehearsing for 'A Pair of Queens'; but the production's been postponed. Louey couldn't get the theatre he wanted."
"Do you like revues?" asked Vance. "I should think they'd be more difficult for the principals than the ordin'ry musical comedy."
"They are." Miss La Fosse adopted a professional air. "And they're unsatisfactory. The individual is lost in them. There's no real scope for one's talent. They're breathless, if you know what I mean."
"I should imagine so." Vance bravely sipped his
