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 you could get away with them. And do you know one of the first things they teach a chorus-girl? To keep the seams of her stockings straight up the back. That goes for the laity as well. And don't wear low-heeled shoes, will you? I know a lot of girls do—fashionable girls, too—but they're ugly. There's no romance in them. Imagine drinking champagne out of a low-heeled mannish-looking shoe—not that anybody does that nowadays except in books, but you get the idea. Besides, high heels make your feet look littler and your ankles slimmer. I heard my very beautiful mother say that once, so I'm darn sure it's true. And more men look at girls' feet than you realize."

Jock paused to consider, and Cecily waited breathlessly.

"Something's the matter with your hair," he said at last critically. "It's bobbed, but it looks different from other bobbed hair."

She helped him out. "The rest of the girls here have theirs shingled. And marcelled. Mine's just an ordinary bob, and put up on kid curlers at night."

"That's it! I knew there was something. Well, go ahead and have it fixed right. And buy some rouge and some powder and a lipstick, and use them a little, but not much. Just enough so you leave a doubt in peoples' minds as to whether it's natural or artificial. And don't let anybody see you put it on. I never could understand why these damn women insist on painting in public. I saw a cartoon about that not long ago—a man shaving on a street car. After all, that would be just about as sensible, when you think of it."

"I'll remember," promised Cecily.

"You've got to learn to dance better," Jock went on. "I wouldn't admit it when I was being polite, but I will now—you're really a burn dancer. You're so