“Say!” There was a ring in her voice now. “I told you the truth the first time. My name’s not Jeanne. But say! Do you mean to tell me there’s a girl in this city that looks so much like me that you really can’t tell I’m not that girl even when you look me square in the face?”
Florence stared at her in blank amazement. “If you’re not Petite Jeanne, the little French girl, who are you?”
“I’m Lorena LeMar, the movie star. Surely you must recognize me from the screen!”
“I—I’m sorry. I seldom go to the movies.” Florence looked her apology. “I’m convinced now, and I—I apologise.”
She was about to pass on when the other girl seized her arm eagerly. “Who is this girl? Has she been in the movies? No, of course not. Could she act a part, do you think?”
The girl seemed so much in earnest that for a moment Florence could only stare.
When at last she found her tongue she assured the young movie star that while Jeanne had never appeared in the movies she was quite capable of acting a part, that she had once starred for an entire season in light opera and that for one glorious night she had sung a stellar part in grand opera.
“Do you believe in luck?” the girl demanded.
“Mostly in the luck that comes after a lot of hard work,” Florence smiled.
“Sometimes you get the breaks. You can’t deny that,” the girl insisted. “Might as well call it luck. Who is this friend of yours? Does she like acting? Does she need money? Is she a kindly person? Would she throw a rope to a drowning soul?”