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 dinavian. The difficulty had something to do with a suitable location for the monument. "I won't have my column lit up by the electric rays from an advertisement for beer," Hellgren had been heard to declare.

Not till they had finished their apéritif did Grover learn that they were to call for Olga, who knew nothing of the plan, which, so Grover now concluded, was of Mamie's devising. Secure in that guess, he could the more easily silence his own conscience; for if the party had a squinty air, the responsibility could be laid upon Mamie's shoulders: shoulders which could roll it off with a borrowed gesture. Her conscience would never stand in her way. If the Italian impresario to whom Tamponi had recommended her were to make sly advances before signing the half promised contract, the chances were that poor Mamie would leap at him; Paris wasn't half as demoralizing as she had expected it to be.

Olga came out of the salon and met them on the balcony overlooking the studio. She was in a soft white dress that made her look cool and slim. Her hair seemed thicker and richer than ever, and massed high on her head it revealed a pair of ears that seemed wasted on such a massive sculptor as Hellgren.

She greeted the proposal of an excursion with a squeal that had, for Grover, a hint of almost hysterical relief in it. This impression was corroborated by her manner toward Mamie, which was more cordial than Mamie had any right to expect; it was almost as though