It was with as open a mind, therefore, as it was at all possible for me to possess in respect of an actress, that I perceived her alighting from an expensive-looking vehicle soon after I had reached the stage door. Nor was I at first able, owing to the speed of her movements—she was ten minutes later, it appeared, than usual—and the voluminous furs, in which she had ensconced herself, to obtain a clear view of her face. In fact, when I first touched her, she brushed me aside, and it was only after she had glanced at me a second time that she stopped for a moment and began to stare at me with her exceptionally limpid, hazel eyes. “Hullo,” she said, “you’re not the same man.” “I am the Vice-President,” I said, “of the Anti-Dramatic Union.” “And Saltatory,” she said. “Don’t forget the Saltatory part.” “Would that it were possible,” I replied. “But it isn’t.” She gave a little sigh. “No, I suppose not,” she said, “not with all us girls earning our living by it.” “And hurling others,” I said, “to their deaths.” “Oh, no,” she said, “not really?” “Every night,” I replied, “in thousands and thousands.” “Oh, good gracious,” she said, “not every night?” I nodded gravely. “Every night,” I said, “in thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands.” “But goodness me,” she cried, “that’s more than ever.” “It’s more and more,” I said, “every night.” “Well, I never,” she said. “What a fearful mortality.” “Fearful indeed,” I replied, “and you are responsible.” “Oh, my aunt,” she said, “how perfectly horrible. Can’t you come and talk to me after the first act?” “I should be only too glad,” I said, “if you would tell me where to come.” “Oh, anybody’ll tell you,” she said. “Nine-fifteen.” Then she disappeared, and at a quarter past nine, when I returned to the theatre after consulting Ezekiel, I was eventually shown into a small room, where she appeared to be undressing herself to a marked extent. She waved her hand, however, and bade me take a chair, assuring me that the worst was already over, and introducing me to a woman, whom she described as her dresser, and whose name was Mrs. Montgomery. “This is Mr. Carp,” she said, “the Vice-President of the Anti-Dramatic and Saltatory Union.” Mrs. Montgomery wiped her hands on her apron prior to greeting me with great cordiality. “Happy to meet you,” she said. “I’ve read a lot of your tracts, and mark my words, there’s a lot of truth in ’em.” “Yes,” said Miss Moonbeam, “and isn’t it awful, Bags?[13] He says we kill thousands of people every night.” Footnote 13: Presumably an abbreviation of Montgomery. “Well, I shouldn’t wonder,” said Mrs. Montgomery, “not for a moment, I shouldn’t. What with this modern dancing and all. Hold your chin up, dearie.” She was applying some powder to Miss Moonbeam’s neck, and presently stood back a little, eyeing her critically. “Yes,” said Miss Moonbeam. “But oughtn’t we to do something? It doesn’t seem right just to let it go on.”