Mr. Mortimer paused to give Nancy time to appreciate what this meant. “Here is the script,” he said. “Perhaps you will read me your lines?” Nancy took a deep breath and dived. “Thank you, Miss O’Finn,” said Mr. Mortimer. “One of my secretaries will communicate my decision to your agent in the course of the next twenty-four hours.” He pressed a bell, which was immediately answered by a chamberlain to whom was entrusted the task of escorting Nancy back into the commonplace of existence. And the very next day when Nancy, who was staying at St. Joseph’s, went to her agent, she was offered the part at a salary of £5 a week. Not only was _Cœur de Lion_ a success with the critics, who hailed Mr. Philip Stevens as the morning-star of a new and glorious day for England’s poetic drama; but it was a success with the public. This, of course, made the critics revise their opinion and decide that what they had mistaken for a morning-star was only a fire-balloon; but the damage was done, and English criticism suffered the humiliation of having praised as a great play what dared to turn out a popular success. One or two papers actually singled out Nancy’s performance for special commendation which, considering that the part did not look difficult and that she played it easily and naturally, betrayed astonishing perspicacity for a dramatic critic. She found pleasant rooms in St. John’s Wood, quite close to the convent. Kenrick made several attempts to see her, and on one occasion waited for her outside the stage-door. She begged him not to do this again as it might involve her dismissal from the Athenæum, because one of Mr. Mortimer’s ways of elevating the English drama was to make it an offence for any of the ladies of his company to be waited for outside the stage-door. For three months everything went well for Nancy except that the expense of London life was a constant worry for her, although she tried to console herself with the thought that she had already saved a certain amount of money, and that after her success in _Cœur de Lion_ she might expect to get a larger salary in her next London engagement. Otherwise she was happy. Then one night early in April she was informed by the stage-door keeper that a gentleman who would not leave his name had been inquiring for her private address. Nancy supposed that it was Kenrick again; but the stage-door keeper remembered him well. This was a much older gentleman with curly white hair who was quite definitely a member of the profession. “Of course, I didn’t give him your address, miss. But if he calls again, what shall I say?”