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 nothing. Miss Weatherby was obviously in haste.

“I have to see Fritz Kreisler this morning,” she explained, “and I’m to have an early luncheon with some Metropolitan singers. However, if I didn’t get here today, I wouldn’t have been able to get you into the Cosmos for this week, and Mr. Borge was so very anxious to have an interview with you before your recital that I just hurried in.”

Dorothy expected Miss Weatherby to produce a notebook and a pencil, but there were no symptoms of these aids.

“Shall I get you some note-paper?” suggested Dorothy.

“Oh, I never take notes,” laughed Miss Weatherby. “Mr. Borge told me a great deal about you. He certainly knows his artists. You’re most fortunate to have him handling your publicity. He’s wonderful! Our editor says that if all press agents wrote like Mr. Borge, he’d fire all the staff and turn the paper over to the press agents. I sometimes wonder why a brilliant man like Mr. Borge stays with a concert bureau. He’s wasted there. But do you know—he’s considered the cleverest publicity man in the musical field and I think he’s the youngest, too.

“Now, Mr. Borge told me all about you and your family and where you studied, and I have your program and your picture. Now, is there anything you’d like to say particularly?”

“Why—I don’t know-"

She should have said something clever, but Miss Weatherby’s animation unnerved her. Miss Weatherby pulled down a fetching turban somewhat more snugly over her smooth, copper-colored hair.

“T think people like to read about personality,” she said, “and I think I’ve got a pretty good idea of yours. Mr. Borge told me all about it. I sometimes think he can