of that."
"The bad ones?"
"The bad women in the plays—like Madame Carré. I'll do any vile creature."
"I think you'll do best what you are"—and Sherringham laughed for the interest of it. "You're a strange girl."
"Je crois bien! Doesn't one have to be, to want to go and exhibit one's self to a loathsome crowd, on a platform, with trumpets and a big drum, for money—to parade one's body and one's soul?"
He looked at her a moment: her face changed constantly; now it had a fine flush and a noble delicacy. "Give it up. You're too good for it," he found himself pleading. "I doubt if you've an idea of what girls have to go through."
"Never, never—never till I'm pelted!" she cried.
"Then stay on here a bit. I'll take you to the theatres."
"Oh you dear!" Miriam delightedly exclaimed. Mr. and Mrs. Lovick, accompanied by Mrs. Rooth, now crossed the room to them, and the girl went on in the same tone: "Mamma dear, he's the best friend we've ever had—he's a great deal nicer than I thought."
"So are you, mademoiselle," said Peter Sherringham.
"Oh, I trust Mr. Sherringham—I trust him infinitely," Mrs. Rooth returned, covering him with her mild, respectable, wheedling eyes. "The kindness of every one has been beyond everything. Mr. and Mrs. Lovick can't say enough. They make the most obliging offers. They want you to know their brother."
"Oh I say, he's no brother of mine," Mr. Lovick protested good-naturedly.
"They think he'll be so suggestive, he'll put us up to the right things," Mrs. Rooth went on.
"It's just a little brother of mine—such a dear, amusing, clever boy," Mrs. Lovick explained.
"Do you know she has got nine? Upon my honour she has!" said her husband. "This one is the sixth. Fancy if I had to take them all over!"
"Yes, it makes it rather awkward," Mrs. Lovick amiably conceded. "He has gone on the stage, poor darling—but he acts rather well."
"He tried for the diplomatic service, but he didn't precisely dazzle his examiners," Mr. Lovick further mentioned.
"Edmund's very nasty about him. There are lots of gentlemen on the stage—he's not the first."
"It's such a comfort to hear that," said Mrs. Rooth.
"I'm much obliged to you. Has he got a theatre?" Miriam asked.
"My dear young lady, he hasn't even got an engagement," replied the young man's terrible brother-in-law.
"He hasn't been at it very long, but I'm sure he'll get on. He's immensely in earnest and very good-looking. I just said that if he should come over to see us you might rather like to meet him. He might give you some tips, as my husband says."
"I don't care for his looks, but I should like his tips," Miriam liberally smiled.
"And is he coming over to see you?" asked Sherringham, to whom, while this exchange of remarks, which he had not lost, was going on, Mrs. Rooth had in lowered accents addressed herself.
"Not if I can help it I think!" But Mr. Lovick was so gaily rude that it wasn't embarrassing.
"Oh sir, I'm sure you're fond of him," Mrs. Rooth remonstrated as the party passed together into the antechamber.
"No, really, I like some of the others—four or five of them; but I don't like Arty."
"We'll make it up to him, then; we'll like him," Miriam answered with spirit; and her voice rang in the staircase—Sherringham attended them a little way—with a charm which her host had rather missed in her loudness of the day before.
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