Of course, you understand that Hope’s bath suit was made out of seal skin; and seal skin is so awfully expensive that she naturally couldn’t get such an awful lot of it for a thousand dollars—and that was the kind of suit it was. The censors gave the indignant Miss Hampton a funny reason for their official “thumbs down” ruling. They said that her bath suit was against the city ordinances of Atlantic City—and they couldn’t stand for that—even if it was in New Jersey. Whereupon most of the New York papers promptly proceeded to print both of the censor forbidden pictures, thereby giving them about a dozen times the publication they would have had on the screen. It is practically a defi on the part of the Metropolitan daily papers, who say in effect to Governor Miller, “Why don’t you try censoring us, too?” And now we are on the subject of Hope Hampton, they tell me that, although a really nice little girl, Hope has begun to feel her dignity. Not long ago, at her picture studio two electricians were fixing an overhead light. One of them, looking down upon the set, said, “Now we’ve got it right. It’s right above her head.” Whereupon the lovely young star stared upward with a cold and terrible stare: “Where do you get that stuff, ‘her’?” she demanded. “When you are talking about me, say ‘Miss Hampton.’” There are alarming rumors that Hope is going onto the stage along with the other movie stars who are headed furiously in that direction. On the other hand, Theda Bara, to counter-balance the exodus, is going back to the screen again. Personally I quiver with excitement waiting to find out if T’eda is going to be a vamp on the screen again. She’s a queer girl—T’eda. It used to be said of Oliver Goldsmith that he wrote like an angel and talked like a fool. Just the other way with T’eda. Personally she is one of the most charming women I ever met. She has brains, wit, philosophy, humor and concentration. She is a brilliant conversationalist. I once heard her talk with a dramatist, renowned for his brilliant conversation, and the silver-tongued genius had nothing on her. She simply sizzled and coruscated with brilliancy. But when she stops talking and turns to her professional life, the brains ooze out somewhere. The only thing worse than Theda’s pictures was Theda’s play, put on last season. At that, she has real ability as an actress—if she would take up sane subjects. Theda was married the other day to one Charles Braban, a director. A few days after the wedding, she was in court testifying as a witness. They asked her for her name. She said it was Theda Bara. The lawyer was one of these bull-dozing gents. “I want to know your real name,” he said with cheap sarcasm.