could. Though that night is still recent history, times have changed.
Divettes could do more with three hundred a month then than they can
with eight hundred now.

As we passed she examined me with a curiosity whose charm was its
frankness. Of course, she put me out of countenance, particularly when
she put her hand on my sleeve. Divettes have the right to do these
things.

"I know who you are," she said, laughing and showing her teeth. "You
are dear old Sully's cousin; he pointed you out to me the other night
when you were at the Diana. Now, don't say you aren't, or I shall look
such a fool; and for goodness' sake don't say you don't know
me--because everyone knows me, and if they don't they ought to."

I was swept away by the exuberance of her attack, and, blushing
violently, I took the small hand which she offered, and assured her
that I was in fact Sullivan Smith's cousin, and her sincere admirer.

"That's all right," she said, raising her superb shoulders after a
special manner of her own. "Now you shall take me to Sullivan, and he
shall introduce us. Any friend of dear old Sully's is a friend of
mine. How do you like my new song?"

"What new song?" I inquired incautiously.

"Why, 'Who milked the cow?' of course."

I endeavored to give her to understand that it had made an indelible
impression on me; and with such like converse we went in search of