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 of a place where beauty is at a premium. I determined at once to go into the movies and I am on my way to Hollywood.

After a slight, if impressive pause, the stream of words cascaded forth once more. She had sought from her mother, in the absence of her father, permission to visit a married friend who resided in Pasadena. She had, indeed, no immediate intention of imposing upon this friend's hospitality, but in the few days she required to find her niche in the world of the cinema her deception would not be discovered. In the end her act would justify itself.

This then was the story of her ambition which, it appeared, had gained in impetus since her fortuitous encounter with Ambrose. Why, she had argued, should she not marry him now and avoid the notoriety and other distasteful aspects of the movies? He had, after all, been her first ideal. She might discover a better later, but he was good enough, certainly good enough to more than satisfy her at present.

At this point a long wail of pent-up anguish had burst from the lips of Ambrose Deacon, and he found himself suddenly voluble, if somewhat incoherent. He was already married! He had vowed never to marry! Besides what did she know about him? In the long run—probably in the short