story: It is not good to say fountain—out of your basin I shall never drink . . . eh, no señor.
The scene was over.
Great stuff! said Zimbule, picking herself up. I knew you'd do.
Go over it again! the director ordered.
This time, when Zimbule touched his head with her hand, he half rose, and drew her towards him. Pulling her down into the chair, he covered her face and throat with kisses. Their lips met.
That's eeeeNOUGH! Look at the madonna. Think of your WIFE!
You love me! Zimbule whispered.
As he looked at the picture and pushed her away, Harold nodded. This time, Zimbule fell with her back to the camera and in her eyes, as she gazed at the man who was trying hard to register rejection, there was an expression of triumph.
We can't see your face, Miss O'Grady!
As she turned, she burst into a fit of hysterical sobbing. Then she fell back on the floor, laughing and crying, her lithe, young body shaken with convulsions.
Great! commented the director. Great! We'll take it.
Zimbule, still crying, staggered to her feet. Her maid, having passed the young leopard on to Rex, approached with a mirror and a powder-puff, but Zimbule, unable to control her emotion, rushed off to her room.
