"Yes, that is my home; won't you come in?"
"Sure I will. Why I was so lonesome in this hole I simply couldn't stand it any longer. Have you only one chair?" She glanced about, her eyes widening. "Heavens, what a funny room! Why, I thought mine was the limit, but it's a palace beside this. You been here long?"
"Since yesterday; take the chair, please; I am used to the bed—no, really, I don't mind in the least. It is rather funny, but then I haven't always lived at the Ritz-Carlton, so I don't mind."
"Huh! for the matter of that no more have I, but believe me, there
would be some howl if they ever gave me a room like this—even in
Haskell. I know your name; it's Stella Donovan—well, mine is Celeste
La Rue."
"A very pretty name; rather unusual. Are you French?"
The other laughed, crossing her feet carelessly, and extracting a cigarette case from a hand-bag.
"French? Well, I guess not. You don't mind if I smoke, do you? Thanks. Have one yourself—they're imported. No? All right. I suppose it is a beastly habit, but most of the girls I know have picked it up. Seems sociable, somehow. No, I'm not French. My dad's name was Capley, and I annexed this other when I went on the stage. It tickles the Johnnies, and sounds better than Sadie Capley. You liked it yourself."
"It is better adapted to that purpose—you are an actress then?"
"Well, nobody ever said so. I can dance and sing a bit, and know how to wear clothes. It's an easier job than some others I've had, and gets me into a swell set. Tell me, when were you in New York?"
"About a month ago."