"Why, the idea—"
"For my part, I am not one of those who regard the chorus as a legitimate branch of the acting profession. It is something beyond the strict limits of our art, like the scene painter, the property master, the musician. The actor is a thing apart."
Flossie collapsed on the sofa as he disappeared into the hall with Mrs. Anderson. "Well, wouldn't that give you tonsillitis!" she ejaculated.
The door from the hall was suddenly thrown open as though Hercules had brushed it aside as he would a fly, and Pinkie Lexington burst into the room looking like a rainbow. In place of the old, dilapidated traveling suit, she wore a smart new gown of purple velvet. A hat with a gorgeous purple plume almost concealed her face, and round her shoulders hung an elaborate set of furs. Close behind this gorgeous apparition was "Marky" Zinsheimer, a trifle nervous and ill at ease at suddenly finding so many persons around.
"Hello, everybody," cried Pinkie. "How do you like my rig?"
"Pinkie!" shouted Flossie, aghast. "Is it really you?"
"For the love of Heaven!" declared Mrs. Anderson, following her in and clasping her hands together in mute admiration.
"Stunning, by Jove!" Even Arnold Lawrence was moved to positive admiration.
"I'd like to see the manager who refuses me an engagement when I drag these togs into his office," cried Pinkie, proudly pirouetting to show the outfit from all sides.
"You look like ready money, my dear," gasped Flossie. "But where on earth did you get the junk?"