We neither of us believed that Mr. Moresco would turn down Fancy Filette for anybody, but we kept up the game of thinking so from sheer desperation. I played too at the pretence that Jerry's wife was a delicate, idealized sort of creature who did not understand the great hard world. That was no doubt what had appealed to him in the beginning, but she wasn't made up for the part. She had begun to put on weight after she had children, and her hair wanted washing. I got away as soon as I could and went straight to Sarah. "They'd been having some kind of a row," I told her. "Oh, it must have been Fancy Filette who set her off," Sarah was certain. "She took to you as a relief, but you'll be in for it too if you get the part." I had to admit to myself after I had been to Mr. Moresco, that there was not much likelihood that I would get it. He laid the tips of his pudgy fingers together and addressed me with the slight blur in his speech which convinced one of the racial affinity which he commonly denied. "Mr. McDermott thinks it will suit me admirably," I told him. "Ah, yes, the author," the manager mentioned him as though it were a fact indulgently admitted to the discussion, "but then, my dear Miss Lattimore, we have to think of the audience." There was this peculiarity of Moresco's handling of an audience, that he treated it as an entity, a sort of human stratification of which the three front rows were lubricious, the body of the orchestra high-brow, the first balcony sentimental and virtuous, the gallery facetious. As far as possible he arranged his plays to meet the requirements. "Now we have Miss Croyden for _Bettina_, she is your type."--He meant as a woman, not as an artist; Sarah and I were both serious and respectable.--"For _Mrs. Brandis_ I think we should have something a little more snappy." "It isn't written snappy in the play," I reminded him. "Ah, no, that is the trouble; I have spoken to Mr. McDermott; he will perhaps change it." "And if he doesn't you will keep me in mind for it." I kept my voice with difficulty from being urgent. "You see, I don't feel like playing a heavy part this year." I glanced down at my mourning; I hoped he would accept it as an explanation. Two or three days later I saw Sarah and she remarked that Jerry was rewriting some parts of his play at the request of the manager. "The part of _Mrs. Brandis_?" Sarah nodded. "Mr. Moresco wants it more--more----" "Snappy," I supplied. "And who is to have it, have you heard?" "Fancy Filette!" "Oh, well, she's snappy enough, I suppose." "I know; I don't even like to be billed with her; but, anyway, the part wasn't worthy of you." But I felt as I went home to my lodging that that was only Sarah's kind way of putting it. CHAPTER II