'Stage?'
'Gee! You're the human sleuth all right, all right! It's a home-run every time when you get your deductive theories unlimbered. Yes, George; the stage it is. I'm an actorine—one of the pony ballet in The Island of Girls at the Melody. Seen our show?'
'Not yet. I'll go tomorrow.'
'Great! I'll let them know, so that they can have the awning out and the red carpet down. It's a cute little piece.'
'So I've heard.'
'Well, if I see you in front tomorrow, I'll give you half a smile, so that you shan't feel you haven't got your money's worth. Good night, George!'
'Good night, Peggy!'
She jumped down from the table. Her eye was caught by the photographs on the mantelpiece. She began to examine them.
'Who are these Willies?' she said, picking up a group.
'That is the football team of my old school. The lout with the sheepish smirk, holding the ball, is myself as I was before the cares of the world soured me.'