this darkness was broken by bright light in two paths from the windows of Perreard's Restaurant—the downstairs one where stupid people, uninterested in French songs and music with their meals, took advantage of the economic opportunity offered in Perreard's sixty-cent dinner. Just the lobe of her ear and a straying strand of her bright hair peeping from under the floppy velvet tam-o'-shanter, the curving line of her jaw and a very small patch of her cheek were caught in a high light by the glow behind her. Instead of the professional smile on her lips was a wistful one her public had never seen. But the one foot hanging free under the sill swung almost as briskly as ever.
"I'm different from most girls in the profession, Harvey," she spoke at last.
"Sure you are," agreed the tenor tightening his embrace. "That's why I want you."
Ivy loosened his arms a little and went on as if he hadn't spoken. "I left a happy home over on the edge of Jersey to go on the stage. My folks weren't crazy about my going, but I didn't have to run away. Guess I was like all the stage-struck Janes though. Nothing would do but I must 'develop my talent' and be a Broadway planet.
"But, Harvey, I landed a job the first day in the big wicked city, went into a musical stock organization that summer and into vaudeville the next season with a good act. In the spring I went out on the U. B. circuit with my own tabloid company. It was too easy. And right now I'm as much of a star as I'll ever be—willingly. There isn't anything I hate just at this minute like the smell of the theatre, and the glare, and the lights on the bald heads, and the feel of the grease on my lips. Here Perry's got me down for a new song tonight—by Berlin—sure-fire hit. And here I am dolled up like a little Artie art student in velvet pants and a silk smock like no artist ever wore and tam-o'-shanter—all ready to go on and sing, "The Picture of My Dreams," before the admiring throng. Am I satisfied? No. What do I want? I don't know. But one thing sure: The stage has gone stale on me. I wish now I'd stayed home. As the cartoons say, 'Father was right'. It's my own fault, I guess. I thought I had a life work and now the bottom's fallen out of it. I'm going to drop out of the show business, Harvey. So if you want to marry a partner for vaudeville,—forget me, that's all."
The fat tenor looked around into her face. "I get you, sweetie. What you want is a home and kids and fireside stuff. I'm dippy about you. I'll go that far. Just say the word and there's a flat up in—"
"Maybe you're right," was Ivy's listless interruption. "Home and kids and fireside sound good. But there's got to be more. Something you ain't got. Something that isn't in you. So just run along, Harvey—and forget it."
Instead, the perspiring man drew her against his chest tightly and pushed his face over her shoulder against her own. "I'm damned if I do, Ivy. You're a little queen and I want you. The only one I ever felt like this about! I'm going to wake
