The next moment Miss Featherstone had thrown her arms around Annie Brunel’s neck, and was kissing her and calling her "My dear" with that profusion of sentiment which most actresses love to scatter over the object, _pro tem._, of their affection. Miss Featherstone was attired in a green silk dress—in many a love-scene had _that_ rather dingy piece of costume figured, on the stage and elsewhere—a blue cloth jacket, a white hat with a scarlet feather, and yellow gloves. During this outburst of emotion, Mr. Melton had caught sight of a young gentleman—to whom he gave thirty shillings a week in order that he might dress as a gentleman should, and always have a good hat to keep on his head while walking about in a drawing-room—who had been in pursuit of Miss Featherstone, and who now sneaked away in another direction. "And so you’ve come back, my dear, and none of the German princes have run away with you! And how well you look! I declare I’m quite ashamed of myself when I see the colour in your cheeks; but what with rehearsals, you know, my dear, and other troubles——" She heaved a pretty and touching sigh. She intimated that these quarrels with the young gentleman who escorted her to and from the stage-door—quarrels which came off at a rate of about seven per week—were disturbing the serenity of her mind so far as to compel her to assist nature with violet-powder and rouge. "Do you know, my dear," she said, in a whisper that sent Mr. Melton away on his own business, "he swears he will forsake me for ever if I accept a part in which I must wear tights. How can I help it, my dear? What is a poor girl to do?" "Wear trousers," said Annie Brunel, with a smile. "Nothing will please him. He would have all my comic parts played in a train half a mile long. At last I told him he had better go and help my mother to cut my skirts and petticoats of a proper length; and he pretended to be deeply hurt, and I haven’t seen him since." Then she tossed her wilful little head with an air of defiance. "He will write to me before I write to him." "It is too cruel of you," said her companion. "Yes, my dear, you may laugh; but you have no burlesque parts to play. And you have nobody sitting in the stalls watching your every movement, and keeping you in a fright about what he is thinking of you." "No," said Annie Brunel, rather absently, "I have nobody to watch me like that. If I had, I should not be able to go upon the stage, I think." "And the bitter things he says about the profession—and particularly about Mr. Gannet, and Mr. Marks, and Mr. Jobson—all because they are young men, and he fancies they may be so polite as to lift a glove for me if I let it fall. You know, my dear, that _I_ don’t encourage them. If there’s any fun at rehearsal, you know that _I_ don’t begin it." "When we met you just now——"