"There's a card inside, sure, and perhaps a name," she argued, with easy sophistry. "It's my duty to look. Some young spark is trying to make love to Martha under my very nose."
She nervously tore off the envelope, opened it and took out a card. She read it and threw up her hands in disappointment. The card was blank, except for the written words: "From your unknown admirer."
"Hello! Blooms! For me?" cried Flossie Forsythe, resplendent in furs and a large picture-hat, bursting into the room just as Mrs. Anderson replaced the card. "Pinkie, look at the flowers some one sent me," she added, turning to summon the sad-eyed Miss Lexington, who still appeared dejected and deserted as she stood in the doorway, last season's walking-suit hanging unevenly from her highly developed figure and appearing a trifle tight in certain spots.
"I suppose Marky sent them," said Pinkie, dropping upon the sofa in disgust. "I wish some guy would slip me a beef-steak over the footlights some time instead of flowers."
Mrs. Anderson politely but firmly rescued the flowers from Flossie's clutches.
"For Miss Farnum," she said coldly, taking the box to the piano out of harm's way.
"What rot," ejaculated Flossie. "I never seen a girl get so many flowers."
Pinkie sighed. "I haven't had an orchid this season," she said sadly.
"Never mind, dear," cried Flossie, sinking onto the sofa by her side. "Wait until the new show goes on, and we both make hits. You'll be covered with flowers."
"It will take some flowers to cover me," responded Pinkie, surveying her ample girth with regret. "But what gets me, is how Martha Farnum wins out with the boobs who send her flowers. Why, she ain't got no style. And she's only a beginner in the chorus, too."