"No, I want to act, or learn to act, in real plays. Some day I want to play in Shakespeare's;" she felt that it was sacrilege to mention his name in these surroundings. "Of course I know I must play very small parts at first." "Any one to back you with money?" "No." "Any friends among the aristocracy or the press?" "No." "She'll soon have them," said Miss Ramsey, with a laugh, which Mr. Baker echoed in a manner that Margaret found particularly offensive. "I quite agree," he said. "And you don't know any one in the profession?" he asked her. "I know Mr. Dawson Farley, and Miss Hunstan a little." His manner changed altogether. "My dear young lady, what could be better? They are at the top of the profession." He closed the book as if he wanted time for reflection. "Our fee for appearance without salary is two guineas; with salary, ten per cent. I think you said Great College Street, Westminster--secluded and near the Abbey--very nice indeed," writing down the address. "You might call again, Miss Vincent, or you shall hear from us," and he closed the book. Margaret turned quickly to the door, giving Miss Ramsey and Mr. Baker a little haughty nod between them. "I don't think much of the young lady's manner," Mr. Baker said, after she had gone, "but her face ought to be a fortune. I wonder if she really knows Farley?" Miss Ramsey got up and looked at herself in the fly-blown glass and at the dirty cards stuck in its frame. "Wish I were as young as that girl; I'm tired of playing in rubbish," she said. "Why don't you ask Farley to give you something?" "No good. I can't stand his patronizing ways." "Make Murray write you a part." "Bosh! He read me an act of one of his plays, long-winded talk and nothing to do, too much poetry, and not enough--not enough bigness for me. I want something to move about with in a play. Besides, he won't risk any money even on his own stuff; too platonic for that--platonics are always economical. Ta-ta." "Have a whiskey and soda?" "No, thank you," and she, too, disappeared down the dirty staircase that Margaret had taken a few minutes before. XXIII It was five o'clock when Margaret knocked at the street door in Great College Street again. "There's a lady waiting for you," Mrs. Gilman said, as she let her in. "A lady!" Margaret exclaimed, and hurried up-stairs. In the drawing-room sat Hannah. She wore her blue alpaca frock and black straw hat with the upstanding bow on one side; she had thrown aside her cape, and the moment she saw Margaret she took off her hat as if to prepare herself for the fray. "Well," she said, "this is a pretty thing to do, isn't it? You'll just come home with me this very moment." Margaret stood with her back to the door. "It's very kind of you to come up, Hannah, but I'm going to stay here," she answered. "You'll do nothing of the sort." The determination in Hannah's voice put the bit between Margaret's teeth. "I am going to stay here," she repeated.