When last we heard from the heliolatrous Mrs. Kilbourne, she had escaped to Mexico where, free from persecution by her ex-husband, she could sit outside in the sunshine, macerating in suntan oil, from dawn to dusk if she so desired, in front of the Grand Hotel in Ixtapa which, from the rusty weathercock on its crumbling tile roof to the grimy, flyblown windows on the front door, had failed to live up to the original hopes of its owners, but which perfectly suited Mrs. Kilbourne’s need for obscurity on a strict budget.