“From the artists and staff of the Source Theatre as a trifling proof of their esteem”—such the large lyre crushing her own “Resurgam.” And there also was the Marys’ with their motto: “All men and women are merely players. They have their exits and their entrances.” And the “Heureuse!” tribute by the sexton’s tools—she craned—was Yvonde _de_ Yalta’s, it appeared. “Yvonde de Yalta!” Mrs. Sixsmith gulped. “You grieve?” Canon Sinquier stood beside her. “I——” she stammered. “So many tributes,” he said. “Indeed, sir, the flowers are extremely handsome.” “So many crowns and crosses, harps and garlands.” “One has to die for friends to rally!” “Were you in her company?” “I, Canon?... I never was on the stage in my life!” “No?” “My husband never would listen to it: he holds with Newman.” “... I don’t recollect.” “Besides, I’m no use at acting at all.” “You knew my poor daughter well?” “I was her protégée ... that is ... it was _I_ who tried to protect her,” Mrs. Sixsmith replied. “My dear madam.” “Oh, Canon, why was her tomb not in Westminster where so many of her profession are? I was reading somewhere only the other day there are more _actresses_ buried there than Kings!” “It may be so.” “Here ... she is so isolated ... so lost. Sally loved town.” “Tell me,” he begged, “something of her end.” “Indeed, sir——” “You’re too weary?” “Oh, I _hate_ a funeral, Canon! Listening to their Jeremiads.” “You shall take my arm.” “Her father was her cult, Canon.... In that she resembled much the irresistible Venetian—_Catarina Dolfin-Tron._” “Sally seldom wrote.” “Her time, you should remember, was hardly her own.” “Tell me something,” he insisted, “of her broken brilliance.” “Only by keening her could I hope to do that.” “One would need to be a Bion. Or a Moschus....” “We laid her star-like, in the dress-circle—out on Juliet’s bier ... Mr. and Mrs. Smee and her dresser watched ... Berinthia ... Sylvester ... came. I cannot loose from mind one of the scene-shifters said to me, ‘How bonny she looked on the bloody balcony.’” “My poor darling.” “On the evening of her dissolution, I regret to say there was a most unseemly fracas in the foyer—some crazy wretch demanding back her money, having booked her place in advance; every one of the staff in tears and too unstrung to heed her. Had it been a box, Canon; or even a stall! But she only paid four shillings.” “Was there anything on my poor child’s mind distressing her at all?” “Not that I’m aware of.” “No little affair...?” “No....” “Nothing?” “Your girl was never loose, Canon. She was straight. Sally was straight ... at least,” Mrs. Sixsmith added (with a slight shrug) ... “to the best of my knowledge, she was!” “In a life of opportunity....” “Ah, sh——, sir, sh——!” “Had my daughter debts?” “Indeed she had ... she owed me money. Much money. But I won’t refer to that.... Sally owed me one thousand pounds.” “She owed you a thousand pounds?” “She was infinitely involved.”