r hats. Turned slowly, and took off
their hats. They were mannerly, too, outside working hours. They treated
Harrietta with boyish politeness--when they noticed her at all.

"Oh, won't you have this chair, Miss Fuller? I didn't notice you were
standing."

They didn't notice she was standing!

"What are you doing, Miss--ah--Fuller? Yes, you did say Fuller.
Names---- Are you doing a dowager bit?"

"Dowager bit?"

"I see. You're new to the game, aren't you? I saw you working to-day. We
always speak of these black-velvet parts as dowager bits. Just excuse
me. I see a friend of mine----" The friend of mine would be a willow
wand with golden curls, and what Harrietta rather waspishly called a
Gunga Din costume. She referred to that Kipling description in which:

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind.

"They're wearing them that way here in Hollywood," she wrote Ken. She
wrote Ken a good many things. But there were, too, a good many things
she did not write him.

At the end of the week she would look at her check--and take small
comfort. "You've got everything you really want right here," Ken had
said, "if you only knew it."

If only she had known it.

Well, she knew it now. Now, frightened, bewildered, resentful.
Thirty-seven. Why, thirty-seven was old in Hollywood. Not middle-aged,
or getting on, or well preserved, but old. Even Lydia Lissome, at
twenty, always made them put one thickness of chiffon over the camera's
lens before she would let them take the close-ups. Harrietta thought of
that camera now as a cruel Cyclops from whose hungry eye nothing
escaped--wrinkles, crow's-feet--nothing.

They had been working two months on the picture. It was almost finished.
Midsummer. Harrietta's little bungalow garden was ablaze with roses,
dahlias, poppies, asters, strange voluptuous flowers whose names she did
not know. The roses, plucked and placed in water, fell apart, petal by
petal, two hours afterward. From her veranda she saw the Sierra Madre
range and the foothills. She thought of her "unexcelled view of Park"
which could be had by flattening one ear and the side of your face
against the window jamb.

The sun came up, hard and bright and white, day after day. Hard and
white and hot and dry. "Like a woman," Harrietta thought, "who wears a
red satin gown all the time. You'd wish she'd put on gingham just once,
for a change." She told herself that she was pa