“It’s about you, honey. I’m—That is, Polly is—At least your mother and I—Well, anyway—”
“Yes, and then?” said Sheila.
Roger got the bit in his teeth and bolted. “The fact is, young woman, you are all the daughters of your father’s and mother’s house. We’re awfully proud of you, of course. And we know you’re going to be a big actress. But we’d rather have you Just a good girl than all the stars in the Milky Way squeezed into one. Do you still say your prayers at night, honey?”
“Sometimes,” she sighed, “when I’m not too sleepy.”
“Well, say ’em in the mornings, then, when you first get up.”
“I’m pretty sleepy, then, too.”
“Well, for Heaven’s sake, say ’em sometimes.”
“All right, daddy, I promise. Was that all?”
“Yes! No! That is—You see, Sheila, you’re starting out by yourself and you’re awfully pretty, and you’re pretty young, and the men are always after a pretty girl, especially on the stage. And being on the stage, you’re sure to be misjudged, and men will attempt—will say things they wouldn’t dare try on a nice girl elsewhere. And you must be very much on your guard.”
“I’ll try to be, daddy, thank you. Don’t you worry.”