"What? After writing a moving picture drama? Is there anything modest about the motion picture business in any of its branches?"
"Oh, dear me, Edie!" cried one of her listeners, "you're dreadful."
"I presume this canned drama authoress," pursued Edith, "will have ink-stains on her fingers and her hair will be eternally flying about her careworn features. Well! and what are you laughing at?" she suddenly and tartly demanded of the plump girl in the background.
"At you," chuckled the stranger.
"Am I so funny to look at?"
"No. But you are the funniest-talking girl I ever listened to. Let me laugh, won't you?"
Before this observation could be more particularly inquired into, some one shouted:
"Oh, look who's here! And in style, bless us!"
"And see the freight! Excess baggage, for a fact," May MacGreggor said, under her breath. "Who can she be?"
"The Queen of Sheba in all her glory had nothing on this lady," cried Edith with conviction.