Louisiana looked softly up out of her gray eyes. “But you see Cissie told me all about it!” “Told you what?” “That your mine had gone dry, or something, and the theater had to close, and you were in a hole generally.” “But that wouldn’t have made any difference about you—at least at present. I told Farson not to write you of our troubles.” “He didn’t. If it hadn’t been for Cissie, I shouldn’t have known a thing, though she said it was all in the papers. But I never read the papers over there.” “I wish Cissie had kept her mouth shut!” “She couldn’t, you know, if she had something nasty about the People’s to tell. But ain’t you the least bit glad to see me, after all my hustle to get here as quick as I could?” “You know I am awfully glad!” “Naturally I couldn’t stay over there, batting around, and you folks in trouble—just couldn’t have swallowed a mouthful of food!” Brainard held out his hand. “Thank you! That’s the nicest thing I have heard for many a day.” “Perhaps I could do something to help?” “What?” Brainard asked jokingly. “Discover the real heir to the property?” Miss Delacourt looked puzzled by this reference to his predicament. Evidently Miss Pyce’s information had been only of the most general character. The details of the threatened suit had not been considered of sufficient importance by the news agencies to cable to Europe. “I can do something,” the girl said, drawing herself up haughtily. “I’m no stage-struck kid now. I’m going to act.” “There _is_ something you can do for me—for us,” Brainard hastened to say, remembering his chief excuse for meeting her at the dock. “I want you to come up to my house for breakfast right away, and hear what it is. Bring Miss Pyce, too, if she will come.” “Oh, she’ll come! Cissie carries around a trunkful of floppy airs, but she’s a right good sort. I’m going to stay with her until I strike a job. She’s half promised to get me something in _The Star of the Seven Seas_—kitchen wench, I fancy. Cissie isn’t giving much away.” “There’s something better than that ready for you. We want you to do the Gertrude in Ned’s play.” “Is the People’s still open?” she cried in astonishment. “Cissie said it had gone dead broke, and was shut for good.” “This is our last effort; and we want to go down waving the flag. It’s Farson’s play—” “Yes, I know—he tried to put me in, but I bet he didn’t succeed.” “It’s a good play, though! And Ned has slaved for the theater these last two years. We must do our best for him. Has he written you about the play?” “Oh, yes; I should say he had—lots.” The calm, impersonal way in which she admitted her correspondence with the young secretary pleased Brainard unreasonably. “He’ll be there for luncheon; so speak to your friend, and let’s be off.”