“No offense, no offense, Mr. Carter!” Mr. Bernstein waved a fat hand on which a diamond flashed magnificently. “I don’t cotton to these cheap shows myself. Now, madam, I’m a business man, and I’ve got a proposition to make to you, a gilt-edged proposition.” He edged his chair nearer, looking from Fanchon to William and back again, with the air of a benefactor. “It’ll appeal to you, sir. It’s dignified, it’s fine, and it’s money, sir, good money! Now, I saw that dance to-night and I says to myself, ‘Sammy Bernstein, if you’re a man you’ll beat it after that first thing,’ and I’m beating it. Madam, I’d offer you, as a starter, five hundred dollars a week to give that dance in a picture, a high-class, six-reel picture, for the Unlimited Film Company!” Mr. Bernstein flung himself back in his chair, thrust his thumbs into the armholes of his white waistcoat, and beamed upon them. “Five hundred dollars a week, madam, and your expenses—for one picture. You can’t beat that—Corwin ain’t going to beat that!”
“My wife won’t go into the movies!” said William, white with anger.
Mr. Bernstein reddened.
“I reckon you don’t understand, sir. The Unlimited Film Company is a star company, sir; it does the finest pictures in the country; we’ve got more stars than any other company this side of the Rockies. We got ’em, and we treat ’em right.”
William rose furiously.
“My wife isn’t looking for an engagement, sir, so we bid you good evening!”
Mr. Bernstein rose hastily.
“I say—no offense——”
“You’re very good,” said Fanchon softly, lingering an instant as William strode away; “I’m not in it—not now! My husband doesn’t like it, you know. Adieu, monsieur, et merci!”
She was smiling, a little flushed, altogether charming, as she lifted her fawn-like countenance to his red face. Mr. Bernstein relaxed and grinned knowingly.