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The Birth of a Smile
DORIS KENYON is smile entirely surrounded by girl.
Or perhaps it might be mere accurate to say that Doris Kenyon is girl completely enveloped in smile.
This smile is no mere arrangement of the features; it is not the invitation with which the common or garden girl lures the young shepherd of hearts in the spring; it is not the pert glance which on Broadway passes for flirtation; it is not the dimpled grimace of the simp ingenue.
Beginning with the eyes, this smile first manifests itself in a number of delicately etched suggestions of crinkles, spreading oui from the outer corners of the eyes of Doris — little joy-rays from her twin suns of mirth.
Simultaneously the eyes themselves kindle with mischief and interrogation — her own appreciation of the humor of the moment and her inquiry whether or not you do.
Then the cheeks of Doris become infected with the contagion, cheeks where the bloom of girlhood flaunts its splendid banners; and at the base of each of these mounts of merriment a dimple puts a period to the thought.
Meanwhile the lips of Doris are parted and the smile is focused — the picture is complete, save for a final little tapping of the toe or the expressive fluttering of a hand or two.
The thing is done — Doris has smiled.
Doris Kenyon and Mary Roberts Rinehart, author of the story in which Miss Kenyon will make her independent stellar debut.
John B. O'Brien taketh tea with Miss Kenyon, whom he is conducting in her new celluloid symphony; the reason directors accept smaller salaries than stars is that they have the privilege of being photographed taking tea in the stars' dressing rooms.
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