She was as voluble as he wished; he had become in the last few months her confidant and consoler. Lavender Street, Wandsworth, or those residents who commanded a view of No. 20, had learnt to know his figure well. Awhile ago he had marvelled at the rôle he was filling; latterly he had ceased to marvel. He realised the explanation--and as he listened to her tale her words smote him. It hurt him to think of the girl beside him cringing to a theatrical agent, forming a chance acquaintance in the streets, and contemplating so ignoble a position as the one of which she spoke. He looked at her yearningly. "You are not pleased," she said. "Is there a great deal to be pleased at? Is this sort of thing worthy of you?" "It is the first step. Oh, be nice about it, do! If you understood ... can I be Juliet at once! If I'm to succeed----" "I have sympathised with you," he said; "I've entered into your feelings; I do understand. But you don't know what you're meditating. Admitting it's inevitable--admitting, if you're to be an actress, that you must begin, since you've no influence, where you're content to begin--can you bear it? These women you'll be thrown amongst----" "Some, at least," she said, "will be like myself, surely? I am not the only girl who has to begin. And ... Whatever they are, it can't be helped! Remember, I'm in earnest! I talked at first wildly; I see how childish I was. What should I be if I faltered because the path isn't strewn with roses? An actress must be satisfied to work." "It isn't decreed that you need be an actress," answered Heriot. "After all, there is no necessity to fight for your bread-and-butter. If you were compelled----" "There are more compelling forces than poverty. Can't you recognise ambition?" "Haven't I?" he said. "Have I been wood?"