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 a little unnecessary, but she noted with pleasure that she was the only new artist to be mentioned by name in the summary. She bought six copies of the paper.

Suddenly she recalled that she had an appointment with Soedlich at six-thirty. Her mother hadn’t been satisfied with Dorothy’s request that dinner be postponed until late. Why? Dorothy had an important engagement downtown. With whom? Did it matter? Yes, it certainly did matter! Well, it was about some music. Couldn’t that be done just as well at some other time? No—Dorothy had to have it. Since when were the music ‘stores open so late? It—it wasn’t a music store; it was an engagement with Tommy—about publicity—very important.

Mrs. Loamford wanted to know why Dorothy took such pains with her coiffure for a visit to Tommy’s office.

“We might go out to dinner,” explained Dorothy.

“I wish you’d tell me exactly,” expostulated her mother, “whether you’re coming home to dinner or not. I expect Uncle Elliott and I don’t intend to keep him waiting all night.”

“Then don’t wait for me,” retorted Dorothy. “I guess Tommy’ll take me out to dinner.”

Soedlich’s studio occupied the first floor of a house on Fiftieth Street, near Sixth Avenue. What had been a front parlor before the apartmental era had been divided into an office and a dressing-room. The dressing-room included a mirror, two chairs, and a couch. Soedlich’s music-room occupied the space once devoted to a back parlor, and a pantry overlooking a cement backyard had been converted into a kitchenette.

Dorothy was surprised to observe that Soedlich’s secretary, a thin, haughty spinster whom one would have expected to carry a lorgnette, and who did, was still on duty.