"I'm not going to take to it again," said Rosalind. "How can I? Besides, I don't want so much to act--I've no ambition except to be jolly--it's the life I ache for. I'm dull, dull, dull! I want to be among the people I remember. My heart turns back to Dixie. I wouldn't say 'thank you' to be with actors and actresses in London, in the West-End; they're only imitations of the Lords and Ladies that bore me. I want to be on the road with a Number II. crowd--yes, and a Number III. crowd for preference. I want to arrive in a hole-and-corner town on a Sunday night, and have supper in lodgings, and see stout in a jug again, and call the landlady 'Ma.' Oh, how soul-stirring it would be to call a landlady 'Ma!'" "Lodgings? Look at your drawing-room, with Louis Cans furniture!" said the duchess admonishingly. "You can't be serious?" "Serious? I'm pathetic! Of course I should find I had been spoilt for it--the pleasure wouldn't last; the stout would taste sour soon, and I should find the landlady impudent, and the lodgings dirty; I daresay I should wish myself back in St. James' Square before I had been away a month. But I don't want to give up St. James' Square--I only want a week-end sometimes as a tonic. That's all I want, just week-ends. If I could be Rosalind Heath again from Saturday to Monday sometimes, I'd be Lady Darlington all the rest of the year cheerfully enough." This was the moment when her Idea was born. As the idea had consequences, it is noteworthy that this was the moment. If she could be Rosalind Heath again from Saturday to Monday! She had never debated the possibility; but why not--why not even for a week? She couldn't call herself "Rosalind Heath" again, because everybody in Theatre Land knew that Rosalind Heath had married the Earl of Darlington, but who among a lowly band of players would know her face? She had not been a star. All she needed for the freak was a confidante. What had become of Tattie Lascelles? Lady Darlington blushed with self-reproach. That she should have to question what had become of Tattie! She sat, after the duchess had departed, remembering days when she and Tattie had been bosom friends. They had shared hopes and lodgings; they had told each other their peccadilloes, and even their salaries. And now she didn't know where Tattie was? Could St. James' Square have made her heartless? How had their correspondence died? ... Ah yes, in Tattie's last letter ages ago she had asked for the sum of five pounds "just for a fortnight." But how monstrous of Tattie to feel constrained because she hadn't sent it back! Who had expected it?