“Whew!” Bert exclaimed when he saw the girl Mimi asked about. “Fat Horace has got more nerve than I thought. She is the reason Horace developed so suddenly a keen interest in the dram-mer. Peach, isn’t she?” he asked admiringly, as the newcomer sauntered gracefully across the room and greeted Mrs. Crosby. “Her name’s Dolores d’Aubigny—though I’ve heard she was christened Mary Mason. She’s going to be in the Broadway Futilities next season—and you know what that means.”
Mimi looked at Bert Bellamy inquiringly but he was watching the girl, who apparently was remaining near Mrs. Crosby much longer than was absolutely necessary. Mimi looked at Mr. Crosby, who had stopped talking to his guest. She fancied there was a shrewd appraisal of the relative merits of his wife, fat and ungainly and too heavily rouged and powdered, and of her who called herself Dolores d’Aubigny, slim and graceful and beautiful. As she looked, the girl with marked casualness glanced briefly at Horace and then slowly walked away from Mrs. Crosby. A flood of pity for the bungling, ludicrous old woman welled in Mimi’s heart. But the object of her pity was wholly unaware of the little drama being enacted of which she was one of the principals.
“… and she’ll cost Horace a pretty penny before she’s through with him,” Bert was saying to her.
“What did you mean just now when you said she was going to be in the Futilities—that I knew what that meant? I’m probably frightfully dense and way behind the times but I don’t keep up with the latest news like you, Bert.”
“I thought everybody knew that Thorne won’t allow a girl in his show unless she’s got a gentleman friend who’s loaded with money,” he