And next thing I know I’m helpin’ her into the car, while Martin tries to smother a grin.  “There you are!” says I, chuckin’ her suitcase in after her.  “I—­I guess I’ll ride in front.”

“What!” says she.  “And leave me to take that long ride all alone?  I’ll not do it.  Come in here at once, or I’ll not go a step!  Come!”

No shrinking violet about Gladys, and as I climbs in I shakes loose the last of that kindergarten dope I’d been primed with.  I’ll admit I was some fussed for awhile too, and I expect I does the dummy act, sittin’ there gazin’ into the limousine mirror where she’s reflected vivid.  I was tryin’ to size her up and decide whether she really was one of the chicken ballet, or only a high school imitation.  I’m so busy at it that I overlooks the fact that she has the same chance of watchin’ me.

“Well?” says she, as we swings into Central Park.  “I trust you approve?”

“Eh?” says I, comin’ out of the trance.  “Oh, I get you now.  You’re waitin’ for the applause.  Let’s see, are you on at the Winter Garden, or is it the Casino roof?”

“Now don’t be rude,” says she.  “Whatever made you think I’d been on the stage?”

“I was only judgin’ by the get-up,” says I.  “It’s fancy, all right.”

“Pooh!” says she.  “I’ve merely had my hair done the new way.  I think it’s perfectly dear too.  There’s just one little touch, though, that Marie didn’t quite get.  I wonder if I couldn’t—­you’ll not care if I try, will you?”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” says I.

She didn’t.  She’d already yanked out three or four hatpins and has pried off the zippy lid.

“There, hold that, will you?” says she, crowdin’ over into the middle of the seat so’s to get a good view in the mirror, and beginnin’ to revise the scenic effect on her head.  Near as I can make out, the hair don’t come near enough to meetin’ her eyebrows in front or to coverin’ her ears on the side.

Meanwhile she goes on chatty, “I suppose Mother’ll be wild again when she sees me like this.  She always does make such a row if I do anything different.  There was an awful scene the first time I had my hair touched up.  Fancy!”

“I was wonderin’ if that was the natural tint?” says I.

“Goodness, no!” says Gladys.  “It was a horrid brown.  And when I used to go to the seminary they made me wear it braided down my back, with a bow on top.  I was a sight!  The seminary was a stupid place, though.  I was always breaking some of their silly rules; so Mummah sent me to the convent.  That was better.  Such a jolly lot of girls there, some whose mothers were great actresses.  And just think—­two of my best chums have gone on the stage since!  One of them was married and divorced the very first season too.  Now wasn’t that thrilling?  Mother is furious because she still writes to me.  How absurd!  And some of the others she won’t allow me to invite to the house.  But we meet now and then, just the same.  There were two in our box party last night, and we had such a ripping lark afterward!”