service, observed that none of these women drank very much. Beyond the heavily carved gold candelabra and the gold epergne from which emerged sprays of lily of the valley, he could see that an air of self-conscious formality, a rather studied gaiety hovered over the group. The women, indeed, seemed to fear that they might get mussed. The men were more animated. A strange fellow with a face like an old Greek coin was picking his nose with evident enjoyment. One fact impressed Ambrose more and more: such scraps of conversation as his ear managed to take in all apparently began with the singular personal pronoun. He never heard the word we.
Dinner over at last, on the way out Ambrose found himself by the side of an extremely pretty blonde.
I saw your play in New York last week, Mr. Deacon, she was saying, and I loved it.
Ambrose had had enough to drink so that he felt equal to the occasion.
You must be one of the most successful of the stars, he said, you're so beautiful.
The lady laughed. I'm not a star at all, she explained. My name is Capa Nolin. I write stories for pictures.
Stories for pictures! They want me to do that.
