“Not a whit and therefore interesting. I hate talking about what is my business.”
“That’s a common failing,” said Helen a little bitterly. “I never realized how epidemic until lately, since Gage has decided to go in for himself. People ask me about everything except my bank balance.”
“The penalty of being in the limelight, Helen.”
She shrugged lightly, a tinge of weariness in her manner.
“Don’t you like the limelight then?” he urged teasingly.
Impatiently she turned on him.
“Oh, more or less, I suppose. But I shan’t like it six months from now. I’ll be tired to death of it if it still keeps coming. You get fed up on it pretty quickly.”
“So skeptical—”
“You needn’t mock at me, Jerrold. You ought to admire me because I’m honest enough not to say that I weep every time my picture is in the paper. I go further. I am quite miserable when I realize that my limelight is directed mostly not at the inner workings of my mind but at my dress and my name and the fact that I take a marcel well.”
“So you know that too, do you?”