She took the best position as naturally as an old stock star would have taken it.
When the Duke, enamoured of directing, dropped out of the cast, Harold was drafted to fill his place. Never having acted before, the boy was appallingly self-conscious, all arms and legs, nor can it be said that he was an ideal choice for the rdle of a debauched athlete of the arena, bent on persuading his mistress to deceive him. He was serious, however, and came to his second rehearsal letter-perfect. A new phenomenon caught the eye of the observant Mrs. Lorillard: Zimbule, seemingly having exhausted Bunny's attractions, appeared to be developing an interest in Harold. Campaspe took her on another shopping tour.
Never, she was explaining, wear clothes with designs in the cloth. You are much too beautiful for that. Wear the plainest, simplest things. Give your face a chance.
But you . . . began Zimbule.
I am not beautiful, Campaspe replied. I can wear what I please. Even so, I am careful. I once owned a watch, the case of which was cut from a single sapphire. I christened it at a dinner in Rome, but I never wore it again thereafter. It was too marvellous. I could not compete with it.
Zimbule gazed at her with admiration. The girl was extremely adaptable, took everything in. In a month she had learned more about dressing,
