_Well, now, I’ll tell you about Doris. She’s nineteen, I guess, and pretty. She’s nice and slender and dressed in an astonishingly close burlesque of the current fashions. She’s a member of that portion of the middle-class whose girls are just a little bit too proud to work and just a little bit too needy not to. In this city of perhaps a quarter of a million people she knows a few girls who know a few girls who are “social leaders,” and through this connection considers herself a member of the local aristocracy. In her mind, morals, and manners she is a fairly capable imitation of the current moving-picture girl, with overtones of some of the year’s débutantes whom she sees down-town. Doris knows each débutante’s first name and reputation, and she follows the various affairs of the season as they appear in the society column._ _She walks--walks, not runs--haughtily into the room, her head inclined faintly forward, her hips motionless. She speaks always in a bored voice, raising her eyebrows at the important words of each sentence._ DORIS. Hello, people. JERRY [_a little stiffly--he’s mad_.] Why, hello, Doris. _Doris sits down with a faint glance at her chair, as though suspecting its chastity._ DORIS. Well, I’m engaged again. _She says this as though realizing that she is the one contact this couple have with the wider and outer world. She assumes with almost audible condescension that their only objective interest is the fascinating spectacle of her career. And so there is nothing personal in her confidences; it is as though she were reporting dispassionately an affair of great national, or, rather, passional importance. And, indeed, Jerry and Charlotte respond magnificently to her initial remark by saying “Honestly?” in incredulous unison and staring at her with almost bated breath._ DORIS [_laconically_]. Last night. CHARLOTTE [_reproachfully_]. Oh, Doris! [_flattering her, you see, by accusing her of being utterly incorrigible_.] DORIS. I simply couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stand him any longer, and this new fella I’m engaged to now simply had to know--because he was keeping some girl waiting. I just couldn’t stand it. The strain was awful. CHARLOTTE. Why couldn’t you stand it? What was the trouble? DORIS [_coolly_]. He drank. _Charlotte, of course, shakes her head in sympathy._ He’d drink anything. Anything he could get his hands on. He used to drink all these mixtures and then come round to see me. _A close observer might notice that at this statement Jerry, thinking of his nefarious bargain with the b-o-o, perceptibly winces._ CHARLOTTE. Oh, that’s too bad. He was such a clean-cut fella.