Every single one of them was marked: "Jean, of the Lazy A." Just that.
On a bulletin board in the middle of the entrance, just before the marble box-office, it was lettered again in dignified black type: "JEAN OF THE LAZY A." Below was one word: "To-day." "It looks awfully queer," said Jean to Mr.Dewitt, who wanted to know what she thought of it all; "they don't explain what it's all about, or anything." "No, they don't." Dewitt pulled his mustache and piloted her back to the machine.

"They don't have to." "No," echoed Robert Grant Burns, with the fat chuckle of utter content in the knowledge of having achieved something.

"From the looks of things, they don't have to." He looked at Jean so intently that she stared back at him, wondering what was the matter; and when he saw that she was wondering, he gave a snort.
"Good Lord!" he said to himself, just above a whisper, and looked away, despairing of ever reading the riddle of Jean's unshakable composure.
Was it pose Was the girl phlegmatic,--with that face which was so alive with the thoughts that shuttled back and forth behind those steady, talking eyes of hers?
She was not stupid; Robert Grant Burns knew to his own discomfiture that she was not stupid.

Nor was she one to pose; the absolute sincerity of her terrific frankness was what had worried Robert Grant Burns most.

She must know that she had jumped into the front rank of popular actresses, and stood out before them all,--for the time being, at least.