Again, Ganna

Ganna Walska has had busy days this season. She has fought in court with the U. S. Customs endeavouring to establish a legal residence separate from her husband, Harold Fowler McCormick. She has opened a Manhattan branch of her Paris perfume business, and obtained orders from small-town department stores. And, contrary to all expectations, she has taken a concert tour, the peak of which came, last week, in Manhattan, where she had never ventured a public performance.

In Carnegie Hall, as if for Kreisler or Paderewski, a great crowd gathered. Its chief motive seemed to be curiosity. Its reward was an exhibition of incredibly bad singing. But few seemed to mind. The bulk of the audience applauded loudly, encouraged the kittenish Walska ways, the heaving surface sorrows, until the few real friends of music present were as mortified for their fellow listeners as for the performer.