Hereupon Miss Courtenay swept out of the room. And thus it happened that at one fell swoop Mr. de Mortemar was deprived of both his heroines, much to his discomfiture; but not to his entire annihilation. The unconquerable force of conscious genius supported him in this extremity. “I can send on my walking-lady and second-chambermaid for Julia and Helen,” he said to himself. “After all, what does it matter how the women’s parts are played? The feature of the play is my Master Walter; and I don’t suppose the audience would care what sticks I put in the other characters.” This is how he consoled himself in the seclusion of his dressing-room, whither he retired, after bestowing upon Mr. Desmond a scathing look, but no words of reproach. The editor of the _Areopagus_ was a person whom an embryo Kean could hardly afford to offend. Lucy Alford departed to change the penitential white muslin of Mrs. Haller for the well-worn merino dress and dark shawl and bonnet in which she came to the theatre. Before doing so, she told Mr. Desmond that it was her father’s habit to wait for her every evening at the close of the performance in the immediate neighbourhood of the stage-door. “Then I will go and wait there with him,” said Mr. Desmond. “I must excuse myself to him for the liberty I have taken in breaking your engagement, and explain my motive for taking that liberty. I’m sure your father will approve my reasons for acting as I did.” “I’m sure of that,” answered Lucy; and then she blushed, as she added, falteringly, “I scarcely think you would like to go to the place where papa waits for me; it is a kind of public-house, two doors from the theatre. The gentlemen of the company go there a good deal, and as papa finds it so very dull in the dress-circle when the play is over, he is obliged to go there.” “I am not at all afraid of going there in search of him. I shall not say good-night until I have seen you comfortably seated in your cab.” “You are very kind; but on fine nights we generally walk home. Papa likes the walk.” She blushed as she said this; and the blush smote the very heart of Laurence Desmond. It was not the first time that he had seen those fair young cheeks crimsoned by that shame of the sinless--the sense of poverty; and the thought of those trials and humiliations which this gentle, innocent, tender creature had to bear touched him deeply.