Despite her manly training, the powder-puff habit was one which she had always practiced in common with all the other Cambridge girls and fellows.
Cumulatively upon these conditions of despair, she began to wonder what the deuce this bally coot meant to do with her!
One thing certain was that he was seriously, perhaps permanently upsetting her scheme, her plan, her idea for junketing forth by her lonely into the desert. Such a perfectly good plan! One that would forever end her being dependent on Lord Tawdry’s luck at bridge and forever relieve her of the necessity of getting Americans at the foreign hotels to stake her at games of stud poker.
Ah—it had been no idle journey—no mere whimsy! It had been designed to bring her wealth, fame, and a glory the most transcendent of her times.
The marriage of Mary Pickford and Douglas Fairbanks had suggested it.
For had she not the pulchritude of Mary?
And girlishness could be acquired.
And had she not the athletic prowess to cut the didoes of Doug?
Thus she could go into the movies—if she could get in—like a sort of one-person band.