She hung up and turned beamingly to Clancy.
"Simple, isn't it? You are now, Miss Deane, an interior decorator. At least, within an hour you will be." She wrote rapidly upon the pad by the telephone. "Here's the address. You don't need a letter of introduction."
Dazed, Clancy took the slip of paper. She noted that the address written down was a number on East Forty-seventh Street. Little as she yet knew of the town's geography, she knew that Fifth Avenue was the great dividing-line. Therefore, any place east of it must be quite a distance from Times Square, which was two long blocks west of Fifth Avenue. She would be safe from recognition at Miss Sally Henderson's—probably. But she refused to think of probabilities.
"I don't know how to thank you, Mrs. Carey," she said.
Sophie Carey laughed carelessly.
"Don't try, my dear. Don't ever learn. The really successful person—and you're going to be a great success—never expresses gratitude. He—or she—accepts whatever comes along."
She crossed her knees and lighted a cigarette.
"I couldn't follow that philosophy," said Clancy. "I wouldn't want to."
"Why not?" demanded Sophie Carey.
"It doesn't seem—right," said Clancy. "Besides," she added hastily, "I'm not sure that I'll be a success."