“Oh, you don’t think it is really!” exclaimed her companion. “Oh, whatever shall I do? My god, if I wasn’t a perfect lady I could say something.” Whereupon Miss Pamela Fitzroy proceeded to express her opinion of Cardiff chemists and of the liquid-black they supplied to poor actresses, in very strong language indeed. “What were you saying, dear?” she stopped suddenly to ask Nancy. “Weren’t you saying something about getting off with a foreigner? You watch him, that’s my advice. I had a Spanish boy following me round last tour when I was with the _Fun of the Fair_ crowd, and what I went through, my dear! He’d only got to look at me, and I’d feel like ringing the nearest fire-alarm. And then he got jealous and took to walking up and down outside the stage-door and glaring at all the men of the company. Of course it used to amuse them, and they’d whistle _Toreador_ or whatever the song is. In the end, however, he ran out of money and got pinched for passing a dud cheque at Bradford.” “But my young man isn’t a foreigner,” said Nancy. “Damn and blast this liquid-black,” swore Miss Pamela Fitzroy. With the consciousness that somebody in front was interested in her Nancy sang her two songs better that night than she had ever sung them. She was feeling so much excited over the prospect of going out to supper while she was dressing after the performance that, though she knew she was being ridiculous, she simply could not resist saying to Miss Fitzroy: “I felt in voice to-night. I really enjoyed singing.” “That’s right,” her companion replied indifferently. “A short life and a merry one. Do you know, dear, I think I’ve put on weight. My corsets! I believe I’ll have to give up drinking Guinness. They say it’s fattening. What a shame! Still, I don’t want to get too fat. Men don’t really like massive women nowadays. I wonder why. My dear old mother says they got had so often when women used to wear crinolines that they took to thin women in self-defence. You ought to meet my dear old mother. She’s such a naughty old thing. You know, a real good sport. Weren’t you saying you were going out to supper with a fellow in front, dear? Have a good time, and say ‘champagne’ in a firm voice. Don’t let him think he can get away with Sauterne, or you’ll find yourself going home on the last tram instead of in a cab. You want to watch these fellows in the provinces. They think an actress will give them a season ticket for paradise on a bottle of lemonade and two ham sandwiches.” Nancy’s admirer was waiting for her outside the stage-door. He was a tall dark clean-shaven man with a heavy chin and large deep-set eyes. The impression of his size was accentuated by the long double-breasted overcoat he was wearing. His voice was deep and sympathetic in spite of his rather sombre appearance. “So kind of you to accept my casual invitation,” he murmured. “Come along, I’ve a decrepit vehicle waiting for us outside the front of the theatre.”