aspirant to the dramatic art is beautiful
by virtue of her originality and alone possesses more distinction
than all the rest of them taken together. Furthermore, I see that
Mimi to-day resembles a freshly baked roll, white and round and
rosy; that Rosinska has the face of a black poodle who has fallen
into a bin of flour and not yet succeeded in shaking it off, and
that her Sophie looks like a freshly washed and combed little
greyhound. Kaczkowska looks like a frying pan covered with melted
butter; Mrs. Piesh like a hen seeking her strayed chicks; and Mrs.
Glas like a calf enveloped in a rainbow. Where the dickens did she
get all those colors she wears?"

"You are a merciless mocker!"

"You can make me relent, Directress, by hurrying the supper . . ."
he answered and became silent.

The directress began telling in detail about a new joke that
Majkowska had played on Topolski. Kotlicki, listening to it, frowned
impatiently.

"It is too bad that there is not a law which would compel you ladies
to pierce your tongues instead of your ears," he said derisively,
enveloping himself in a cloud of cigar smoke and observing Janina
who was still promenading with Majkowska.

Both beamed with satisfaction, realizing the attention they
attracted. Janina's eyes were joyous, and her crimson lips smiled
charmingly revealing her pearly teeth.

Wladek was engaged in some lengthy conversation with his mother and
also followed Janina with his eyes. Meeting the glances of Kotlicki
he turned away.

Shortly they were joined by Sophie Rosinska, a fourteen-year old
typical actor's child with the long, thin mouth of a greyhound, a
pale complexion, and the large eyes of a madonna. Her short, curled
hair shook with every motion of her head and her thin, narrow lips
fairly bit with their spitefulness as she related something to
Majkowska in her lively voice.

"Sophie!" energetically called Mrs. Rosinska.

Sophie left them and sat down beside her mother, gloomy and sulky.

"I constantly keep telling you not to have anything to do with
Majkowska!" whispered Rosinska, adjusting the curls on her
daughter's head.

"Don't bother me with your nonsense. Mamma! . . . I'm sick and tired
of listening to it! I like Miss Mela because she isn't a scarecrow
like those others," saucily prattled Sophie and smiled with childish
naivete at Niedzielska, who was looking at her.

"Wait till we get home. I'll fix you!"

"All right, all right . . . we'l