It was at this juncture that the door to the photographer's room suddenly started to open. But it didn't open all the way, just a crack. "Oh, Marc!" Toffee's happy voice trilled. "Just wait till you get a look at me in this. I'm a scandal to the jaybirds!" Toffee, in a whimsical mood, had apparently decided to make her entrance a memorable one. Instead of swinging the door all the way open, and walking into the room as anyone else would have, she held it open just enough to allow the seductive passage of one exquisite lace-clad leg. "That," she called, "is only a promise of things to come. There ought to be music to go with this." Julie, who had remained transfixed up to this point, suddenly came to life with a vengeance. "I'll give you something to go with it, you little tramp," she raged. "How about a fracture!" She started toward the door, but reached it too late. Already it had slammed to, and there was the sound of a key being turned in the lock. She pounded on the panel with both fists. "Come out of there, you little sneak!" she yelled. "Go away," Toffee's voice came back demurely. "I'm dressing." Julie kicked the door in a fit of frustration. "You little ... little ... social leper!" she fumed. "What was that!" Toffee called back, anger rising suddenly in her voice. "What did you call me?" "Leper!" Julie screamed. "Leper! Social leper!" "Oh," Toffee's voice was suddenly mollified. "I thought you said lecher." "Take it either way," Julie shot back. "It won't make any difference what you are when I get hold of you!" She swung around to Marc. "Let's hear you explain that!" she demanded menacingly, pointing to the door. She moved toward him. "Stand up, Marc Pillsworth." Her voice was deceptively quiet now. "Stand up so I can knock you down. I'm going to lay you out colder than a cast iron cuspidor, you philanderer!" "But ... but," Marc searched for something to say against desperate odds. "What ... what about our marriage?" he asked lamely. "Marriage!" Julie snorted. "From now on, this isn't marriage, it's mayhem! Prop him up, doctor, and stand back!" Marc was stunned. The transformation in Julie was almost unbelievable. He'd seen her angry before, but never this angry. Apparently the old jealousy that he'd thought cured had merely been lying dormant all the while. Now it was all the worse for having been suppressed. He got slowly to his feet, without quite realizing he was doing it. He stared at Julie in blank amazement. "That's the good boy," Julie approved nastily. "Now just hold it." Moving swiftly to Marc's desk, she picked up a heavy ornate inkwell. Raising it over her head, she sighted a target squarely between Marc's bewildered eyes. "Stop!" Dr. Polk was suddenly at her side, grasping her arm. "You mustn't do that, madam," he cried. "Your husband is a sick man." "He's going to be a lot sicker when I get through with him," Julie grated. "The rip has probably been revelling around behind my back all the time."