Blainey glanced at half a dozen telegrams, news from productions scattered over the country, and raised his glance again.
"You're not mixed up with Roderigo Sanderson, are you?"
"Who?"
She had taken off her fur toque with a charming gesture of intimacy, and was arranging her hair in the opposite mirror, her feet swinging merrily.
"Sanderson."
"Did you see who brought me here?" she said impertinently. The answer saved the actor an engagement. With Blainey she assumed always the disdain of a woman of the world.
"Don't get mixed up with actors," he persisted, a note of jealousy in his voice. "Steer clear!"
"Managers are safer, you mean!" she said, laughing at him.
That was not his meaning, but he continued:
"I don't have to tell you much, do I, kid?"