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Breakfast With a Perfect Lady 287
“Who’ve you seen lately — that’s interesting?” “Sinclair Lewis and he’s as wonderful as ‘Main Street.’ ”
“Ah!”
“And his wife is adorable.”
“Oh. — How’s your mother?”
“Well, thank you, and in The East. When I told somebody you were coming today, that somebody said, ‘What are you going to do for a mother?’ ”
“It’s awfully cozy just as we are,” I said and moved the cigarets.
“It is nice,” said the girl who once was “Pollyanna’s” gusher of “gladness”; and lighted one and puffed contentedly.
Never judge an actress by the parts she plays. Just the same, I should say that there is more of the real up-close Patricia Collinge in “Just Suppose” than there was in any of the sirupy sundaes that went before this male and meaty love story. Her pride, her wit, her wistful distinction have outlet in this (for two acts, anyway) beautifully written and always beautifully cast romance of the South. And we talked this over at a length which may not be indicated here.
“I’ve heard,” I said, “that you went shopping for the soft southern speech of Linda Lee.”
“I was on the lookout, I’ll admit; I trailed Southerners who sounded ‘right.’ And one day in a New York shop I came upon a shopgirl whose speech was everything I desired. She had the most delicious southern accent. ‘An F. F. V.,’ I told myself, ‘who lost all her money and came to work in this nice shop.’ I looked at a lot of things I didn’t need — just to hear her talk; I even bought some. At last I said: “‘You’re from the South?’