/./// at the Pierre

In the chandelier-hung Cotillion Room of Manhattan's Hotel Pierre, 250 diners listened happily (some a little fuzzily) to Singer Margaret Scott. She sang three songs and two encores. Among the calla lilies and white leather banquettes, the only wartime note was a scattering of well-pressed uniforms. Then the blonde chanteuse started to sing Lili Marlene.

Lady Doverdale, middle-aged U.S. widow of a British title, sat at one of the white banquettes. With her was middle-aged Socialite Mary Hoyt Wiborg. When they heard the song, they hissed. Between hisses, they cried "No!" "Nazi!" "Don't sing that song!" "I won't have it!" Singer Scott, pretending she heard nothing untoward, kept on singing. The two protestant ladies up and marched out.

But not for long. Lady Doverdale and Miss Wiborg soon reappeared, emitting indignant cries. They retreated, reappeared again. "Hush!" (and other things) cried the diners.

Finally Singer Scott finished her song and slipped out. An Army major rose to explain what most of the world already knew: that German-born Lili Marlene had long been one of the top-ranking favorites of Allied soldiers in Europe.

Lady Doverdale, a guest at the Pierre, moved to another hotel. Miss Wiborg went into seclusion at the St. Regis.

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