kin who was passing, and Carmelita was not disturbed. Her small delinquencies never disturbed her. She laughed.
"I don't believe you've been bored, Jackie," she chided him, with a nod at the mannikin's back. Her voice was low, rich, with the trace of an accent. "Where is the distracted Lucy?"
Jack Hodge waved his cane down the center of the shop. A tall blonde woman of thirty-five or thereabouts, obviously American, sat cross-legged upon one of M. Doucet's gilt chairs. Eyes half closed, she was smoking a cigarette in an incredibly long black-lacquered holder.
"I can see that Lucy is worried to death about me," bantered Carmelita. She had been calmly ignoring the shop attendants who bowed and fluttered around her. With Jack Hodge she approached the third member of their party.
Lucy Hodge drew deeply upon her cigarette and raised lazy gray eyes to acknowledge Carmelita's presence. She was the soul of languor, pampered languor that is never forced to hurry. "Ah, my dear, you are here at last. Do let's start your show and get it over with."
Carmelita at last admitted the existence of
