“I haven’t brought my godfathers and godmothers, Mr. Fortune,” she smiled. “But I am Jane Brown really. I always felt I couldn’t live up to it. I see you know me.” “If seeing were knowing, I should know Miss Joan Amber very well. It’s delightful to be able to thank her for the real Rosalind--all the Rosalind there is.” She made him a curtsy. “I’m lucky. I didn’t think you’d be like this. I expected an old man with glasses and----” “This,” said Reggie maliciously--“this is the Chief of the Criminal Investigation Department--Mr. Lomas.” Lomas let his eyeglass fall. “I also am young enough to go to the theatre. I shall go on being young so long as Miss Amber is acting.” “May I sit down?” said she pathetically. “You’re rather overwhelming. I thought it would be terrific and severe and suspicious. But you know you are bland--simply bland.” “This is your fault, Lomas,” said Reggie severely. “I have often been called flippant and even futile, but never bland before--never bland.” “It is a tribute to your maturity, my dear Fortune.” Her golden eyes sent a glance at Reggie. “Mature!” she said. “I suppose you are real? Oh, let’s be serious. I am Jane Brown, you know. Amber--of course I had to have another name for the stage--Amber because of my hair.” She touched it. “And your eyes,” said Reggie. “Never mind,” said she, with another glance, but the gaiety had gone out of them. “My father was a doctor in Liverpool. He is worth twenty thousand of me, and he never made enough to live on. A poor middle-class practice, the work wore him out by the time he was fifty, and now he’s an invalid in Devonshire. He can’t walk upstairs even--heart, you know. And he simply pines to work. Oh, I know this doesn’t matter to you, but I can’t forget it. If only people were paid what they’re worth! I beg your pardon. This isn’t business-like. Well, he was the doctor the Kimball family went to. Old Mr. Kimball was a clerk, and the son, the man who was drowned the other day, began like that too. The old people died about the time young Mr. Kimball and his sister grew up. She kept house for her brother. He began as a broker and got on. In a way--my father always says that--in a way he was devoted to her. Nothing he could pay for was too good for her. He always wanted her with him. But he made awful demands on her. She mustn’t have any interests of her own. She mustn’t make any friends. Like some men are with their wives, you know. Horrible, isn’t it?” She turned upon Reggie. “Common form of selfishness. Passing into mania. Not only male, you know. Some mothers are like that.” “Yes, I know they are. But it’s worst with men and their wives.” “The wife can’t grow up. The children can,” Reggie agreed.