“It’s cruel to ship her back to the cows, Barry, when she’s gone through such a rotten novitiate. I think you’re taking a great responsibility if you use that easy and persuasive tongue of yours to send her back to the stupidity she ran away from. Don’t you?” Rosalind said to her: “There’s no point in your pawing Barry Annan. I’ve done it. He lets you. Then he does what he pleases.” Annan grinned faintly: Betsy suddenly slapped his face, not hard. “That complacent smirk!” she said, exasperated. Before Annan guessed what she was about, she turned and ran upstairs. He followed, too late. The guest-room door opened and slammed, and he heard the key turn inside. He returned to the drawing-room, laughing but irritated. “Little meddlesome devil,” he said, “talking to _me_ of responsibility! Here’s where I wash my hands of the Eris kid. It’s Betsy’s deal now.” * * * * * It was. Eris, listening to the laughter and music below, lying wide-eyed on her pillow, sat up startled and wider yet of eye when a scurry and flurry of scented skirts, followed by the clash of a swiftly locked door landed Betsy Blythe at her bedside. She stared at the breathless vision of flushed beauty, too astounded to think of herself and her position. Down on the bed’s edge dropped Miss Blythe, radiant, cheeks and eyes still brilliant from her victory. “I’m Betsy Blythe,” she said. “I heard about you. How fine and plucky of you! What a perfectly rotten experience!... Tell me your name, won’t you?” “Eris Odell,” said the girl mechanically, still under the spell of this sudden brightness which seemed to fill the whole room with rose colour. “My dear,” said Betsy, “please forgive me for coming in on my head. Mr. Annan tried to prevent me. You mustn’t blame him. But when I heard how plucky you are I simply had to come up and tell you that I’m going to ask my manager to take you on. I haven’t seen our first script. They’re doing the continuity now. But I’m sure there must be something--something, at least, to start you going--so you won’t need to sleep in the park--you poor child----” She impulsively caressed one of the hands that lay on the quilt; retained it, looking at Eris with increasing interest and kindness. Suddenly, for one fleeting moment, the subtle warning that a pretty woman feels in discovering greater beauty in another, touched Betsy Blythe. And passed. “I’m in pictures,” she said, smilingly. “I should have told you that first. I have my own company now. When you are quite recovered, will you come and see me?” “Yes, thank you.” The eyes of Eris were great wells of limpid grey; her lips, a trifle apart, burned deep scarlet. “You are _so_ pretty,” said Betsy,--“do you test well?” “They thought so.” “The Crystal Film people?” “Yes.” “I’ll have Mr. Sneyd give you another test. He’ll make you up. Or I will. You know, of course, that it won’t be a part that amounts to anything.” “Oh, yes.”