“‘Some men in this, some that, their pleasure take, but every woman is at heart a rake,’” Olive quoted. The director laughed, “You’re right.--And I often think that the movie queens take the place of an aristocracy in this country. Something very fast and bold for the women to stare at. Now Rand, there, is the ideal aristocrat--in appearance, anyhow, don’t you think? And nobody’s looking at him. I wonder if Miss Walling would dance with me?” He relieved Gurdy close to the Rand table. When the boy joined Olive she asked, “Mr. Russell isn’t a typical stage director, is he?... I thought not. One of the new school in your theatre? A well educated man?... Rather entertaining.” “He writes a little. Been an engineer. Stage directors are weird. One of them used to be an Egyptologist.--I say, help me keep Mark here the rest of the week, will you? He’s dead tired. Did he run when he saw Cora Boyle coming?” “Yes. He seems positively afraid of her!” Gurdy said, “He is afraid of her. Great Scott, he was only sixteen when he married her and dad says he was--pretty blooming innocent. Mark’s all full of moral conventions, Lady Ilden. Ever noticed that?” “When you were in pinafores, my child! I always thought he’d shed some of his Puritan fancies. He doesn’t.” “Grandfather’s awfully strict, even if he is an atheist. And mother ... isn’t what you’d call reckless. They brought him up. And he still thinks their ... well, moral standards are just about right.--I’m the same way. Got it pounded into me at school that bad grammar and loud clothes were immoral. Don’t suppose I’ll get over that.--Mark says he’s never flirted with a married woman in his life.” Olive yawned, “I don’t suppose that he has, consciously. Oh, to be sure, I can understand why Mark would think of Miss Boyle as the Scarlet Woman. The Puritan upbringing.--We never quite get over early influences, Gurdy. I always find myself bristling a bit over dropped H’s even when a famous novelist does the dropping.--Mark prophesies bad reviews for the play, in the morning. Do leave word to have the papers sent up to me. I’m so sleepy I shall forget about it.--Thank heaven, Margot’s stopped dancing.”