Heroine discovered in boudoir of her wretched million-dollar residence.
Enter French maid with card.
“’Tis he!” the heroine screams—“my brave hair-restorer!”
She glides down the marble staircase; she would have done a two-step,
but the glide is more fashionable.
There is no handle on the front door, so she opens it with a glad smile.
The hero walks in upon her invitation; she seats herself upon his
entering, and, with a scream, faints upon his departure.
Again quick curtain.