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Picture Show Annual 115 her mouth a thought too wide and her big blue eyes too deeply set, but for all that there was a great charm about her, charm in her soft colouring and in the deep notes of her lovely voice which seemed to express every shade of meaning in her mind. "Never mind," she said, " we got our money. And one day, Christopher Gordon, we re going to be famous." He grimaced. ' I used to think so once," he said, " but now it seems hopeless. It's about time I found a real job, I suppose, instead of fooling around hoping for a chance in this game." " Nonsense ! " The girl spoke almost angrily. " With your face you've got every chance of success. If anybody ought to quit dreaming and get a nice sensible job as a mother's help or a teacher of elocution, it should be me, poor Penelope Ware." Chris looked down at her affectionately. " Poor Penny Plain," he said. She laughed, a deep musical chuckle that made even the stall tender, a morose individual with a chronic cold in the head, smile in sympathy. " That's very rude," she said ; ' an insult to a rising young film super. Still, I like it." She linked her arm through his, and put down her twopence beside his for the coffee. " Now for a long trudge home," she said. " If we're lucky we may get an early morning tram. Of ve got further to go than I, haven't you, you poor dear ? " The boy sighed. " You're wonderful, Penny," he said. " You never seem to get fed- up. Aren t you ever tired ? " She nodded, and for a moment a shadow appeared in her eyes. " Of course I am. Especially in the morn- ings. Still, I always hope for the best. I always feel 'This may be the day, this may be the turning-point in my career. This may be that hallowed day on which Penny Plain gets off the bus and into the Rolls-Royce.' It may be silly, ' she went on seriously, " but it helps an awful lot at getting-up time." The boy did not answer her. His chin had sunk into the turned-up collar of his mackintosh, and his hands were thrust deep in his pockets. With Penny clinging to his arm he turned away from the coffee stall and was about to cross the road when a huge limousine with powerful lights whispered softly past. In the lighted tonneau there sat a little grey-haired man in an old flannel suit. He was sitting forward, his quick black eyes taking in every detail of the road lit up by the car lights. Penny squeezed Chris's arm. " Henri D'Avnl himself," she murmured. " Hallo ! " The exclamation broke from her lips in astonishment. The great car had stopped and now backed slowly towards them. The next moment, M. D'Avril, the most famous producer on the Brito-Semitic lot, had stepped down into the road.