"Why do you think it would prove interesting?"
She regarded him for a time with close scrutiny.
"Well, I don't quite get you, Bobby. You are rather a riddle in a way. Sir Galahad on Broadway—doesn't that strike you as a funny combination?"
"Rather paradoxical," he admitted, "the environment might fit Don Juan better. But why Sir Galahad on Broadway?"
"That's what they all call you. You are notoriously unattainable. The only man in this game who hasn't had an affair with any ash-trash."
"With any what?" he questioned, puzzled.
"Ash-trash; actress," she enlightened. "The title is a little conceit of my own—poor but original. You know perfectly well that Stella Marcine simply threw herself at your head during the rehearsals. And she told me that you never even asked her out to supper."
"Why should I?"
She smiled.
"Everybody else does. Most men marry her, at one time or another."