"If you please," Ken's lips shaped a bud, "I'll show those Marjories who the best dressed flame is. How about it, Ernie?"
"Well," Emerson said with quiet surprise, "you are different. This is a pleasure."
The dressing-room, formerly the Governor's study, was crowded with contestants. Dressing tables had been provided. The contestants sat before mirrors, arranging details of their costumes. They watched newcomers closely, appraising their rivals' chances for success.
As Ken, tall, a graceful figure in cloth of gold, entered, he heard a voice say:
"It's in the bag. There goes Ernie's latest pansy."
He stood before a full length mirror. He saw the face of a refined and charming woman, whose eyes were sensuously heavy. She was not young. Her great sophistication lent her years which had not yet been lived by the young man upon whom she was superimposed. Her gown covered a synthetically perfect form. Her arms, whitened to soft ivory, were slender, but her neck was a trifle too long and her hands betrayed her. She was not really alive at all.
Ken's eyes examined his reflection with amusement. She studied him curiously. He moistened his lips, which parted in a half smile. Her teeth were revealed in the similar smile which she seemed to bestow upon him.
"Have you got a swig o' something on your hip, dearie?" he heard his neighbor at the dressing table on the right ask. "No, I haven't," Ken replied. He looked curiously at the half-nude adolisque who sat there. "Ray Leech, or I'm a so and so! Are you lush or aren't you?"
"Be refined, Ken Gracey," Ray said. "I hear you're in."
