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Within two hours, the brief session in Soedlich’s studio was magnified to appear like a narrative out of a cheap magazine or a bit of gossip retailed by a joyous defamer. Soedlich wasn’t so terrible, now that she was in her room, inspecting herself in the mirror. It would have been fun —in a way—to lead him on. She hadn’t shown her usual poise. Dorothy was a little nettled over the way in which she had played her part. She wished that she were back in the studio, a newcomer to Soedlich’s apartment. It would be so easy to stand him on his ear—now that she knew his methods. Probably Soedlich was laughing at her now. The conceited ass!

At that, it was Soedlich who had lost. She came to this conclusion as she surveyed her features in the mirror. She moved away so that she might examine herself at full length. She was pretty good to look at, even if she said it herself! She hunched up a shoulder and looked over it into the glass. It wasn’t any wonder that Soedlich was interested. She needn’t depend on voice alone! There weren’t many singers who had her charms. A good back and shoulders, Dorothy, and lovely arms. Nice legs, Dorothy, and ankles ! You’re pretty good, Dorothy!

Then she thought that she ought to drop in at the Underwood office in the morning. Perhaps something important had turned up. And yet she didn’t want to go. Maxwell and Harper were pleasant enough, but they treated her like a child. As for Tommy—what had got into Tommy, anyhow?