“He’s only been in America two years—they’d move in different circles, naturally.” “Yes, but circles cross—and look here, those pictures will be coming out soon.” “I don’t imagine he goes to the movies, certainly not now that he’s ill.” “Yes, but he reads the newspapers; he’ll see her pictures.” “But that isn’t meeting her. If he’s at all like Gloria, he’ll be too proud to look her up; besides we may be talking nonsense. How do we know that they don’t really hate each other?” “That’s not the worst. People don’t usually hate over ten years. They may be utterly indifferent. I realize that possibility, but I don’t believe they are indifferent. It’s all just guessing.” “The simplest way would be to get rid of the snake,” persisted Ruth. “Yes, I know, but who’s to do it, and how?” “You’re to do it, and I suppose that I, being in the house, should plan the means—find out where he keeps his pet and how to kidnap it.” “Even if it has the significance you suppose, what’s to prevent him getting a new one?” “They don’t sell them in the department stores, you know,” said Ruth, smiling. “Let’s wait until you see Pendragon again before we do anything rash,” Terry closed the discussion. He came home with Ruth, who wondered if Gloria would observe them coming together, and if it might not wake in Gloria some latent jealousy. “I’ve persuaded Ruth to take up cartooning as a profession,” he announced. His putting it into words like that before all of them seemed to make it final. “You mean those political things of fat capitalists and paper-capped labouring men?” asked Ben Stark. “Certainly not,” said Terry. “You’re horribly behind the times. That sort of thing isn’t done. If she goes in for political cartoons at all she will draw pictures of downtrodden millionaires defending themselves from Bolsheviki, rampant on a field of red, or of a mob of infuriated factory owners throwing stones at the home of a labour leader—she may draw a series of pictures showing in great detail how a motion picture actress makes up to conceal the wart on her nose before facing the camera.” “It isn’t at all settled yet,” said Ruth. “I may not be able to get a—a job.” She hated the word, but pronounced it in a perfect fury of democratic renunciation. “I don’t think there’ll be any trouble,” said Terry. “There’s always a demand for that sort of thing.” Altogether, however, the announcement produced surprisingly little comment from Gloria and her friends. They seemed to take it as a matter of course, like Gloria’s going into motion pictures. She had been, despite her fears, rather successful, and had been offered a new contract, which, however, she was unwilling to sign until she knew more about the production of Terry’s comedy. If Terry’s play really got a New York production, Gloria would be only too glad to desert the camera.