"Infamous," she cried bitterly. "Why need they be so cruel? I won't read another line."
At that moment there was a knock at the door, and Pinkie, resplendent in a new tailor-made gown, brilliantly red, burst into the room.
"Just rushed in to tell you how perfectly grand you were last night, and what perfectly lovely things the papers said about me," she cried. "Of course, that smart critic on the American might have said I had improved a little, but then he said I was just as artistic when playing lines as when I was only in the sextette. Nice, wasn't it?"
Martha smiled. "What did the Journal say?" she asked.
"Oh, something nice—I don't quite remember," evaded Pinkie.
"And the Herald?"
"Success!" cried Pinkie. "But I think it's a shame what some of them said about you, Martha. It isn't so at all."
"Never mind, dear," said Martha, somewhat wearily. "We did the best we could."
"The trouble was the play was bad," continued Pinkie. "Don't know what that author meant by putting me only in one act, and then letting Flossie come on twice to interrupt my scenes. But come along, Martha—you must put some powder on that nose if you expect to live through another day. I'll help you dress."
