“Gypsies, traveling gypsies. They go everywhere.
“And,” she went on, “when Zola does that dance, they want to keep her—just the way you’d like to keep a beautiful wild bird who flies into your window.
“They do keep her, too, for a few days. But the little wild thing longs for her mountain home. So, one starry night, she folds up the gorgeous pink nightie they have given her, puts on her old calico dress and steals away, back to her home on the side of Big Black Mountain.
“See!” she exclaimed. “Contrast! Is it not wonderful?” Once again, like some strange tropical bird, she drifted across the room.
“But Jeanne!” Again the skeptic protested. “Is all this in the scenario?”
“Not yet. I am putting it in to-morrow.”
“Putting it in?” Florence was aghast.
“Yes, yes. And why not? Why must one be a star, a movie queen, if she is not to have her own way?”
“And Lorena LeMar is gone?”
“Yes. She ’phoned me this morning, only a few words. She was off on the yacht. I must move in this very day. To-morrow we must rehearse. And voila! Here we are!”