to the topsy-turvy world into which she had come. She felt herself propelled down the stairs by Irish Mary, who wasn’t Irish Mary any more, but a Force whose orders were obeyed. In the curved drive outside the Hollywood Hotel the little Jap was stowing the last of the bags into the great blue car whose length from nose to tail seemed to span the hotel frontage. At the wheel, rigid, sat a replica of the footman.

Irish Mary with a Japanese chauffeur. Irish Mary with a Japanese footman. Irish Mary with a great glittering car that was as commodious as the average theatre dressing room.

“Get in, dearie. Lyddy’s using the big car to-day. They’re out on location. Shootin’ the last of Devils and Men.”

Harrietta was saying to herself: