Radio mirror (Jan-June 1946)

Until We Meet Again (Continued from page 45) industry was automatically an ally if not a friend. Besides, she was very pretty and red-headed and appealinglooking. So he sat and watched her and wondered. It was Sybil herself who precipitated his actions. She reached blindly across the table for the salt and knocked her purse to the floor. It opened up as it fell and spilled the contents in a widening arc around her feet. She just sat there in despair, her stricken face indicating that this was really too much to bear. Kenny whirled quickly from his stool and went over to her. Kneeling down, he gathered up the comb and lipstick and compact and cigarette case and letters and keys and all the other things that usually inhabit a New York handbag — or a handbag anywhere else for that matter — and stuffed them back into the bag where they belonged. He finally got it closed and handed it to her. She tried to thank him but her voice was just a broken mumble. On impulse, he sat down at the table and said directly, "What's the matter?" She looked at him speechlessly, and then her eyes overflowed. He waited. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he told her. "Drink your coffee, why don't you? And would you like a cigarette?" OE held out his pack to her. She took *■*■ a cigarette and he held a match for her while she tremblingly put the cigarette to her mouth and inhaled at the light. Then, to give her a little time to recover, he asked if he might bring his coffee over to her table. She nodded, and he went back to the counter for the coffee. She tried to smile at him when he sat down again, but he wisely kept quiet until she had finished both the cigarette and her coffee. "More?" he asked. But she shook her head. "Look," he leaned toward her earnestly, "it's none of my business, but I think you need a little looking-after tonight. Can I take you home or something? You don't have to worry about me. I work upstairs and I know who you are — I was at the show tonight. And part of the rehearsal, too, for that matter." She smiled again, wanly. "Yes, I know — I saw you." "Well, how about it?" he insisted. "You can't just sit there mourning. Tell me where you live, and I'll take you there." "I live with my brother and his wife on East Fifty-second Street," she said with a visible effort, "and I can get home all right. But if you want to walk over with me, I'll appreciate it." "We don't have to walk. We can take the Fiftieth Street bus — or a cab if you like." But she shook her head. "I'd really rather walk, if you don't mind." So they walked. And as they walked, they began to talk. They stopped off at Colbee's at Fifty-second and Madison Avenue in the CBS Building and had another cup of coffee and kept on talking. By the time they reached Sybil's house, Kenny knew quite a bit about her. She had been an actress for some time, she told him. As a matter of fact, she had once had a starring part on Broadway for a while. That was the trouble. The part had come too soon, and after the (Continued on page 72) Celebrated painter, John Collins. shows how a blonde complexion is glorified with original* "Flower-fresh*' shade of Cashmere Bouquet Face Powder Want to make your blue eves seem bluer? Want to make your fair skin look richer, more radiant? Then smooth on Cashmere Bouquet's new "Flower-fresh" shade of Natural. Willi a whisper of pink, fresh as a bon-bon, it imparls a pearly-smooth finish to your skin. Masks tiny blemishes; clings for hours . . . it's the face powder find of the year. There are "Flower-fresh" Cashmere Bouquel shades to glorify all skin types. J&, Quuuuet ^ . I fere" i he right Cashmere Bouquet shade for you! roil I.U.IIT TYPES •Natural, Rachel .No. 1 Rachel No. 2 FOIt >ii:i»n M TYPES Rachel No. 2. Rose Brunette FOR IIAUK TYPES Rose Brunette, Even Ian ^**^4wfa4<>u