“Oh Coral, don’t! You’ll make him squirm. Haven’t you noticed how he hates—fuss?” she ended delicately, afraid of offending Coral. But Coral did not seem disturbed. “Yes. Aren’t men quaint? I had a lot of trouble before I cured Johnnie. Justin does remind me so of Johnnie sometimes. That type needs a heap of managing. When I marry again——” “Again?” Coral bridled, up in arms in an instant. “How old d’you think I am then? Sixty?” “Oh, no! oh, no!” Laura, perplexed, tried to smooth down the angry little woman. But Coral, touched on a tender spot, was not to be pacified. “Fifty? Forty? I tell you—I’ll tell _you_—I’m thirty. That’s what I am. Not a day more. And Tim was accidental. Quite. If I’d had my way——Of course a child takes it out of you—and touring on the top! I played Aladdin at the time I was nursing him. It wasn’t as easy as you’d think either. My word, how that kid used to howl! My dressing-room was star, you see—right off the stage. We used to have to arrange with the conductor for incidental music whenever he woke up. Can’t trust land-ladies—will give ’em gin when your back’s turned. Well, as I say—I may be thirty and there’s Tim and the mourning; but made-up I don’t look a day over twenty, I give you my word. Why shouldn’t I get married again?” Laura fidgeted, and Coral reddened anew. She had a terrible trick of accusing you of thinking that which, as a matter of inconvenient fact, you had been thinking. “If you think I wasn’t fond of poor old John—well, you’re wrong. But he’s dead and I’m alive. And once you’ve had a husband, you know——” Laura obviously didn’t. “Well—mind, I’m not saying it’s only habit—but a man’s like a fur coat. Not absolutely necessary, but once you’ve had one you can’t get on without. You feel lost. You want some one to look after. I’d never go wrong, you know. I’m not that sort. A girl who can’t control herself makes me sick. I’ve seen too much of it. And they call it love! But give me a husband! Not that I’d live on a man even if he were my husband. I own myself, you know. I pay my way. Why—I’ve earned my keep ever since I was twelve. Up to six-ten a week I’ve been, and down to eighteen bob and provide your shoes and gloves. But I’ve always kept myself—and John too sometimes; though he hated it, poor Johnnie. But there it was, you see. I could play anything from _Little Eva_ to _The Worst Woman in London_. But, John, he wasn’t much good. He could act straight parts all right, and of course I always got him cast for earls when I knew the management; but he wasn’t much use for anything else. Too much the gentleman, you know. And a joint engagement—it’s cheaper one way—living together; but they beat you down. Still, it’s better than living alone. It’s hell, living alone——”