t from her
girdle. They both smoked. On their table were small plates, two wine
glasses half filled with a pale liquid, and small coffee-cups. Spirals
of smoke ascended over a finished repast. Of course if the part called
for cigarettes you must smoke whether you had quit or not.

The places back of the prized first row were now filling up with the
later comers. One of these, a masterful-looking man of middle
age--he would surely be a wealthy club-man accustomed to command
tables--regarded the filled row around the dancing space with frank
irritation, and paused significantly at Merton's side. He seemed
about to voice a demand, but the young actor glanced slowly up at him,
achieving a superb transition--surprise, annoyance, and, as the invader
turned quickly away, pitying contempt.

"Atta boy!" said his companion, who was, with the aid of a tiny
gold-backed mirror suspended with the cigarette case, heightening the
crimson of her full lips.

Two cameras were now in view, and men were sighting through them. Merton
saw Henshaw, plump but worried looking, scan the scene from the rear. He
gave hurried direction to an assistant who came down the line of tables
with a running glance at their occupants. He made changes. A couple here
and a couple there would be moved from the first row and other couples
would come to take their places. Under the eyes of this assistant the
Spanish girl had become coquettish. With veiled glances, with flashing
smiles from the red lips, with a small gloved hand upon Merton Gill's
sleeve, she allured him. The assistant paused before them. The Spanish
girl continued to allure. Merton Gill stared moodily at the half-empty
wine glass, then exhaled smoke as he glanced up at his companion in
profound ennui. If it was The Blight of Broadway probably they would
want him to look bored.

"You two stay where you are," said the assistant, and passed on.

"Good work," said the girl. "I knew you was a type the minute I made
you."

Red-coated musicians entered an orchestra loft far down the set. The
voice of Henshaw came through a megaphone: "Everybody that's near
the floor fox-trot." In a moment the space was thronged with dancers.
Another voice called "Kick it!" and a glare of light came on.

"You an' me both!" said the Spanish girl, rising.

Merton Gill remained seated. "Can't," he said. "Sprained ankle." How was
he to tell her that there had been no chance to learn this dance back
in Simsbury, Illi