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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: "Don't be a nasty snob, Harry. This is a different world. Think of the rotten time Alice would have had in Wonderland if she hadn't been broad-minded.
I saw you working to-day. We always speak of these black-velvet parts as dowager bits. Just excuse me. I see a friend of mine " The friend of mine would be a willow wand with golden curls, and what Harrietta rather waspishly called a Gunga Din costume. She referred to that Kipling description in which: The uniform 'e wore Was nothin' much before, An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind.
Harrietta had managed to get a bit for her here, a bit for her there, until by the time she was eighteen she was giving a fairly creditable performance in practically speechless parts. It was dangerous to trust her even with an "Ah, there you are!" line. The audience, startled, was so likely to laugh. At about this point she vanished, bound for Hollywood and the movies.
This sort of sham made Harrietta sick. She, whose very art was that of pretending, hated pretense, affectation, "coy stuff." This was, perhaps, unfortunate. Your Fatigued Financier prefers the comedy form in which a spade is not only called a spade but a slab of iron for digging up dirt.
But it was not until the last week of the filming of Let's get a Husband that Harrietta came to her and said passionately: "I do! I do!" "Do what?" Irish Mary asked, blankly. "Do want to break my contract. You said I could after this picture." "Sure you can. They hired you because I put Lyddy up to askin' them to. I'd thought you'd be pleased for the big money an' all. There's no pleasin' some."
The Young Thing who was to play the ingénue part said shyly: "Oh, Miss Fuller, may I tell you how happy I am to be playing with you? You've been my ideal, etc." And now Harrietta Fuller, in black velvet, was the least important person on the lot. No one was rude to her. Everyone was most kind, in fact. Kind! To Harrietta Fuller!
Harrietta liked the ticking of a clock in a quiet room; oven smells; concocting new egg dishes; washing out lacy things in warm soapsuds. A throw-back, probably, to her grandmother Scoville. The worst feature of a person like Harrietta is, as you already have discovered with some impatience, that one goes on and on, talking about her.
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