eal home."

[Illustration: "AND GLAD I AM TO BE BACK IN YOUR HOSPITABLE HOUSE."]

"This is another member of our family," explained Aunt Jane. "Miss
Flossie Forsythe, Mr. Lawrence."

"How do you do?" Lawrence curtly acknowledged the introduction.

"I seen you in Harlem once," replied Flossie, admiringly. "I recognized
you at once by your photograph."

"Indeed? I believe my features are somewhat familiar to the general
public."

"Oh, I'm in the profession, too," added Flossie, proudly.

"Indeed? The chorus?"

"Why, the idea--"

"For my part, I am not one of those who regard the chorus as a
legitimate branch of the acting profession. It is something beyond the
strict limits of our art, like the scene painter, the property master,
the musician. The actor is a thing apart."

Flossie collapsed on the sofa as he disappeared into the hall with Mrs.
Anderson. "Well, wouldn't that give you tonsillitis!" she ejaculated.

The door from the hall was suddenly thrown open as though Hercules had
brushed it aside as he would a fly, and Pinkie Lexington burst into the
room looking like a rainbow. In place of the old, dilapidated traveling
suit, she wore a smart new gown of purple velvet. A hat with a gorgeous
purple plume almost concealed her face, and round her shoulders hung an
elaborate set of furs. Close behind this gorgeous apparition was "Marky"
Zinsheimer, a trifle nervous and ill at ease at suddenly finding so many
persons around.

"Hello, everybody," cried Pinkie. "How do you like my rig?"

"Pinkie!" shouted Flossie, aghast. "Is it really you?"

"For the love of Heaven!" declared Mrs. Anderson, following her in and
clasping her hands together in mute admiration.

"Stunning, by Jove!" Even Arnold Lawrence was moved to positive
admiration.

"I'd like to see the manager who refuses me an engagement when I drag
these togs into his office," cried Pinkie, proudly pirouetting to show
the outfit from all sides.

"You look like ready money, my dear," gasped Flossie. "But where on
earth did you get the junk?"

"Never you mind," replied Pinkie, obviously embarrassed.

"Mrs. Anderson said you went out riding in a taxi with a man," said
Flossie, wonderingly. Then, as her eyes for the first time fell on
Zinsheimer, who was trying to edge toward the door and escape unnoticed,
she sprang to her feet, pointed her finger at the shrinking "Marky," and
screamed: "With him?"

"None of your business," retorted Pinkie.

"M