“She keeps her heart at her banker’s for one thing. Do you know she once came into this office with a ’bus ticket stuck in the cuff of her sleeve? A leading part at the Galaxy Theatre, and rides in a ’bus!”
“That wasn’t recently. Be fair, Hubert. And where do you want her to keep her heart?”
“Where she wore the ’bus ticket. On her sleeve. If she’s so fond of money, Lexley, why doesn’t she go after it? There’s plenty about.”
Chown stiffened in his chair. “As Miss Arden’s agent, Hubert,” he said severely, “I protest against that suggestion.”
Rossiter smiled blandly. “Right. You’ve done your duty to your client and to the proprieties. Now we’ll get down to facts.”
“But anyhow, Hubert, don’t forget what this girl is. She plays on her demureness. It’s Mary’s winning card.”
“A nunnery’s the place for her sort of demureness. In the theater a woman only scores by demureness when it’s known to the right people that she’s a devil off the stage.”
“No! No,” cried Chown. “You—”
“The theater is a place of illusion, my friend. In any case, Mary’s been doing flappers too long. She’s getting old.”
“You’re simply being perverse, Hubert.” Mr. Chown was genuinely angry. “Mary Arden old!”