“Happy, my ducky?” Irish Mary would say, beaming upon her.

“Perfectly,” from Harrietta.

“It’s time, too. Real money you’re pullin’ down here. And a paradise if ever there was one.”

“I notice, though, that as soon as they’ve completed a picture they take the Overland back to New York and make dates with each other for lunch at the Claridge, like matin�e girls.”

Irish Mary flapped a negligent palm. “Ah, well, change is what we all want, now and then.” She looked at Harrietta sharply. “You’re not wantin’ to go back, are ye?”

“N-no,” faltered Harrietta. Then, brazenly, hotly: