What could he say when she asked this question?--in faltering, pleading tones, that seemed to say, “Oh! for pity’s sake, give me a word of praise, or I shall die at your feet.” What could he say, when the soft blue eyes looked up to him with such a beseeching expression? Could he be candid, and reply, “You are at present the kind of actress whom the coarse-minded critic calls ‘a stick;’ your idea of Pauline Deschapelles is a schoolgirl’s notion, without force, or depth, or passion; but when you are ten years older, and have thought, and suffered, and studied, and have lost all the youthful beauty which now enables you to look the part, you may possibly be able to act it?” Instead of this, Mr. Desmond fenced the question with diplomatic art. “It gave me great pleasure to see you act,” he said; “and you looked charming. I think fortune is a great deal too kind to Claude in giving him such a lovely and devoted wife after his shabby conduct.” “Do you like Mr. de Mortemar?” asked Lucy, delighted by the small meed of praise conveyed in this artful speech. “Well, not very much,” replied Laurence, smiling; “he is not exactly my style.” “And yet he was such an enormous favourite at Market Deeping,” said Lucy, opening her eyes to their widest extent. “But, to tell you the real truth, I do not very much admire him myself; only I wouldn’t say so to any one except you for the world, as it was so very good of him to give me a London engagement.” “It is not very good of him to keep you in a corner of the stage all through your best scenes.” “Yes, that is a disagreeable way he has; but I don’t think he knows when he does it.” “Oh yes, my dear Miss St. Albans, depend upon it he knows very well. Ah, here he is.” Mr. de Mortemar entered the green-room with his grandest tragedy stalk. He had been informed of Mr. Desmond’s visit. “They have heard of me already,” he said to himself. “Perhaps the _Areopagus_ will be the first to speak out. I knew they couldn’t afford to continue their vile attempt to crush me by silence. They have been paid--bribed by some London actors whose names I could mention--to keep my fame from the public. But there must come a time when they will find it dangerous for their own reputation to play that game any longer. They attempted to crush Kean, and they are attempting to crush me. But they will find it even harder work to destroy me than they found it to destroy poor little Ted.” This is what Mr. De Mortemar told his friends, whom he rarely entertained with any other topic than his own triumphs, past, present, and future; and this is what he told himself. Impressed with this conviction, he approached Mr. Desmond, and introduced himself to that gentleman with the air of a man who confers a favour, and who is fully aware of the fact.