“That is being quixotic—unnecessarily quixotic; and quixotic, dear lady, rhymes with idiotic. No, the other lady would perfectly understand my point of view in doing anything within reason to obtain the services of a good child actress in a play where so much, everything, in fact—depends on that child actress. I understand from Mrs. Pottage that you have been out of an engagement for some time, Miss O’Finn, and you will pardon me if I say that I judged from your lodgings that you are perhaps not in too healthy a financial condition. I am willing if you accept the engagement for your daughter and yourself to pay you half-salary until we open at Leeds. Come, I think I have shown how really anxious I am to have your little daughter.” “I’ll let you know to-night,” Nancy began. “No, no, don’t wait till to-night. Say ‘yes’ now. Come, give me your purse and I’ll put your first week’s salary inside and post you the contract to-night.” There was sixpence-halfpenny in that purse, and to-morrow, Nancy thought, her last brooch would have to go to the pawnshop. After that there would only be a few dresses, and then Bram’s watch must go and perhaps even her wedding-ring. It would be madness to refuse. She pushed her purse toward Mr. Plimmer. “All right. Consider us engaged,” she sighed. The actor was frankly delighted. He ordered a fresh bottle of Chambertin and talked for another half-hour enthusiastically about his play and the success that Letizia was going to make. But Nancy could not be merry. She was wondering what Bram would have said about Letizia’s acting. The people in the restaurant faded out of sight; the noise of knives and forks died away; the conversation sank to less than a whisper, to less than the lisp of wind in grass. There stood Bram in the entrance, his eyebrows arched in a question, his eyes half-laughing, half-critical, his lips pursed. It seemed to Nancy that she rose from her seat and cried out to him; but in that instant the people in the restaurant reappeared and the noise of talk and plates was louder than ever. There was no Bram in the entrance of the restaurant, no Bram anywhere in the world. Mr. Plimmer offered to drive Nancy to Unicorn Street; but she refused and bade him good-bye outside Kettner’s. She wanted to be alone, and finding herself in Soho she thought that she would look in at her late lodgings and inquire if there were any unforwarded letters waiting for her, not that she expected any, but it might be that somebody had written to her at that address. It would be cheerful to find a letter from the Kinos. The Kinos? Ah, but it was not the same thing. It was quite another matter for Letizia to act in the same play as her mother. Miss Fewkes was ungracious when she opened the door to her late lodger. She had not let any of her rooms since the Kinos and Nancy went away.