Lily was flattered, at heart, to be received like that. She also felt proud that her Pa had not been ashamed of her and that he had kept her name in The Era. Well, they treated her as a lady, saw her value, gave her her due. And she lay for a while enjoying her triumph, while she turned the pages of The Era in an absent-minded way: Miss This, Miss That, Cape Town, Calcutta ... actors, singers ...
“Those aren’t artistes, any of them!”
Programs, plays, songs: “Why I Love Women!”
“I know, you footy rotter!”
“Is Marriage a Failure?”
“I should think so!” thought Lily.
And articles, biographies ...
“Pack of lies!” thought Lily.
And pages of “Wanted ... Wanted ...”
Lily ran her eye down the columns: artistes’ boarding-houses, costumiers, scene-painters, dancing-schools, every town, every theater. Hullo!—she had turned the page—Tom, the dancer—Hullo! At Milan!