When he went behind, at the end, he had to wait for her; she only showed herself when she was ready to leave the theatre. Her aunt had been in her dressing-room with her, and the two ladies appeared together. The girl passed him quickly, motioning him to say nothing till they should have got out of the place. He saw that she was immensely excited, lifted altogether above her common artistic level. The old lady said to him: “You must come home to supper with us: it has been all arranged.” They had a brougham, with a little third seat, and he got into it with them. It was a long time before the actress would speak. She leaned back in her corner, giving no sign but still heaving a little, like a subsiding sea, and with all her triumph in the eyes that shone through the darkness. The old lady was hushed to awe, or at least to discretion, and Wayworth was happy enough to wait. He had really to wait till they had alighted at Notting Hill, where the elder of his companions went to see that supper had been attended to. “I was better—I was better,” said Violet Grey, throwing off her cloak in the little drawing-room. “You were perfection. You’ll be like that every night, won’t you?” She smiled at him. “Every night? There can scarcely be a miracle every day.” “What do you mean by a miracle?” “I’ve had a revelation.” Wayward stared. “At what hour?” “The right hour—this afternoon. Just in time to save me—and to save _you_.” “At five o’clock? Do you mean you had a visit?” “She came to me—she stayed two hours.” “Two hours? Nona Vincent?” “Mrs. Alsager.” Violet Grey smiled more deeply. “It’s the same thing.” “And how did Mrs. Alsager save you?” “By letting me look at her. By letting me hear her speak. By letting me know her.” “And what did she say to you?” “Kind things—encouraging, intelligent things.” “Ah, the dear woman!” Wayworth cried. “You ought to like her—she likes _you_. She was just what I wanted,” the actress added. “Do you mean she talked to you about Nona?” “She said you thought she was like her. She _is_—she’s exquisite.” “She’s exquisite,” Wayworth repeated. “Do you mean she tried to coach you?” “Oh, no—she only said she would be so glad if it would help me to see her. And I felt it did help me. I don’t know what took place—she only sat there, and she held my hand and smiled at me, and she had tact and grace, and she had goodness and beauty, and she soothed my nerves and lighted up my imagination. Somehow she seemed to _give_ it all to me. I took it—I took it. I kept her before me, I drank her in. For the first time, in the whole study of the part, I had my model—I could make my copy. All my courage came back to me, and other things came that I hadn’t felt before. She was different—she was delightful; as I’ve said, she was a revelation. She kissed me when she went away—and you may guess if I kissed _her_. We were awfully affectionate, but it’s _you_ she likes!” said Violet Grey.