“Not at all,” said West, in his matter-of-fact voice. “There was next to nothing for me to do, for the last act was foreshadowed. It’s a great play, Risk. Craven of the _Planet_, whom I got to read it right away, admitted as much this very day, though he wouldn’t accept it.” “Why?” asked Risk. “Too much unlike recent successes, I suppose,” said West drily. “And I believe it would draw all London.” “Miss Carstairs,” said Risk kindly, “wouldn’t you like to see your father’s play performed?” The girl’s shining eyes answered for her. “I think I can persuade Craven,” remarked Risk, turning to West. “Can you arrange a meeting between us for the day after to-morrow?” “By jove!” said West softly. “The thing’s done! Miss Carstairs, take my word for it, that play will bring you a little fortune. Risk, God bless you!” Kitty looked from one to the other. “Is it—is it really and truly going to be?” she asked, tremulously. “Leave it to Mr. Risk,” cried West in high delight. “I think you may, Miss Carstairs,” Risk said with that amused look of his. “But don’t count on the fortune just yet. Still, I’ll make the best terms I can for you—” “And Mr. West,” she put in quickly. “Please don’t think me ungrateful and horrid, Mr. Risk, but I don’t wish you to—to trouble about the play at all unless Mr. West promises—on paper, too—to take half the profits—if any.” “Never!” shouted West, indignant. “Goodness me,” said Hilda, interrupting her talk with Colin, “what on earth is the matter, Anthony?” “Nothing, my dear,” replied her brother. “Merely Anthony’s little way of receiving a decent business proposition.” He turned to Kitty. “Never mind, Miss Carstairs; we three shall have a talk together later, and—” Sharp came into the room with a note on a salver. “Messenger boy brought it, sir; said it was immediate,” he murmured to his master, as he presented the salver to Kitty. “No answer, madam,” he said aloud, and retired. Kitty had taken the note mechanically, but now as she sat staring at it, the colour ebbed from her face. The plain envelope was directed to her—in rather shaky writing—care of Miss Risk, 366 Long Acre; apparently Hilda’s servant had sent the messenger on to Aberdare Mansions. Anthony West alone made any effort to sustain the conversation, but then he was the only person present to whom the incident appeared ordinary, and he, too, soon fell silent at the sight of the girl’s pallor. At last the host said gently: “Hadn’t you better open it, Miss Carstairs? It may be nothing so very serious after all.” Kitty seemed to nerve herself; she even smiled faintly—as she tore away the flap. She took out a piece of ruled paper folded once—a page torn from a note-book—opened it, and forced herself to read the two lines scrawled upon it in pencil. Then the paper fell from her fingers, and with a little cry of pain she put up her hands and hid her face. CHAPTER XVII