Said he: “A good woman like you—”
“Me?” cried Mary. And she laughed, a wild laugh. “Don't hit me when you've got me down! I've sold myself for every job I ever got; I sold myself for every jewel you saw on me this afternoon. You notice I've got them off now!”
“I don't understand, Mary,” he said, gently. “Why does a woman like you sell herself?”
“What else has she got? I was a rat in a tenement. I could have been a drudge, but I wasn't made for that. I sold myself for a job in a store, and then for ribbons to be pretty, and then for a place in the chorus, and then for a speaking part—so on all the way. Now I portray other women selling themselves. They get fancy prices, and so do I, and that makes me a 'star.' I hope you'll never see my pictures.”
I sat watching this scene, marvelling more than ever. That tone in Mary Magna's voice was a new one to me; perhaps she had not used it since she played her last “speaking part!” I thought to myself, there was a crisis impending in the screen industry.
Said Carpenter: “What are you going to do about it, Mary?”
“What can I do? My contract has seven years to run.”
“Couldn't you do something honest? I mean, couldn't you tell an honest story in your pictures?”
“Me? My God! Tell that to T-S, and watch his face! Why, they hunt all the world over for some new kind of clothes for me to take off; they search all history for some war I can cause, some empire I can wreck. Me play an honest woman? The public would call it a joke, and the screen people would call it indecent.”
Carpenter got up, and began to pace the room. “Mary,” said he, “I once lived under the Roman empire—”