I thought myself he said a 'gay mon' and Dinny's a bit young; but I found he meant him to peddle cigarettes about among the tables." In the quaint old gowns that were delighting the older painters, Joan glided through the shifting blare and color unaware of the eyes that watched and liked her.

Not so Kenny.
He knew who stared and smiled and he knew who stared too long.

He was inordinately proud of her.
"Kenny, please!" begged Garry.

"Let me paint her.

I'm going to California in April and I won't have another chance.