‘You had better lay the matter before your uncle, Miss Allen,’ said the tragedian. ‘Without his consent, Mrs. Lochleven Cameron could not see her way to an arrangement. She is; aware--as I am--of the undeserved stigma which has been cast upon the profession by bigotry and ignorance. She has no respect for the prejudice--nor have I--but she will not violate the feelings of those who are so unfortunate as to suffer under it.’ ‘Ye’re quite right, Joe,’ said Mrs. Cameron colloquially, and then, with added grandeur, to Barbara, ‘Mr. Lochleven Cameron expresses me own feelings admirably.’ Barbara made no reply. It would have been sweet to work for Christopher even by so audacious a means as going on the stage. But the vision crumbled when she thought of her uncle. She dropped her veil and drew on her gloves slowly, and as she did so a rapid step ascended to the front door, there came the click of a latch-key, the slam of the street door as it closed, and then, with an imperative knock which awaited no answer, a young man rushed into the room and shouted, ‘Done at last!’ There was triumph in this young man’s eyes, and the flush of triumph on his cheek. He was a handsome young fellow of perhaps five-and-twenty, with a light curling beard and a great blonde moustache. His clothes were a little seedy, but he looked like a gentleman. He did not notice Barbara, and the tragedian and his wife apparently forgot her presence. ‘You don’t mean------?’ began Mrs. Lochleven Cameron. ‘But I do mean it,’ cried the new-comer. ‘Rackstraw has taken it. It is to be put in rehearsal on Monday, and billed for Monday-week. How’s that for high, eh?’ ‘Good, dear boy, good!’ said the tragedian, and the two shook hands. ‘But that’s not all,’ said the new-comer. ‘Milford was there.’ ‘The London Milford?’ asked Mr. Cameron. ‘The London Milford,’ said the other. ‘Milford of the Garrick. He heard me read it, prophesied a great run for it, has promised to come down again and see it, and if it fulfils his hopes of it, means to take it up to town. In fact, it’s as good as settled.’ ‘I congratulate ye, me boy,’ said Mr. Cameron. ‘I knew ye’d hit ‘em one of these fine days. I knew ut.’ Through all this, which she only half understood, Barbara was silent. She took advantage of the lull which followed the tragedian’s expression of friendly triumph to recall Mrs. Cameron to the knowledge of her presence. ‘I will speak to my uncle,’ she said, ‘and I will write to you.’