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 yellow orchids. Hesitating a little before she removed this outer covering and her gloves, she sat watching and listening intently to the entertainer on the stage.

She sings so loud: Consuelo explained the reason for her interest, as Miss Bayes retired to change her dress, while the pianist fingered through Chopin's Minute Waltz in a manner which reminded Campaspe of eggs boiling with the advice of a sand-glass. I never heard any one sing so loud before, the awed child continued, not even Rosa Ponselle or Jeritza.

You should hear Sophie Tucker or Eva Tanguay, Paul advised.

Do they sing louder?

Much louder.

I want to, the little girl averred with great simplicity, as she consulted her program.

Vera, whose display of mental anguish had created neither sympathy nor comment, began to dry her eyes. Long ago, Campaspe had learned that the proper manner of dealing with Vera's emotions was to disregard them, for if Vera discovered that she was not pleasing you in one way she immediately tried another. Vera's whole existence had been devoted to a vain effort to please somebody or other. It cannot be said that she ever quite succeeded even in pleasing herself.

Nora Bayes was interpreting another popular ditty.