Letizia’s first night was on the ninth of September. Her mother decided to give up her autumn engagement, and trust to finding something later on when the supremely important date was past. She did not want to worry Letizia during her rehearsals; but her experience might be of service, and she ought to be near at hand. Nancy stayed at her old rooms in St. John’s Wood which she had chosen originally to be near Letizia at school in the days when she herself was a London actress. Perhaps if she could have mustered up as much excitement about her own first night in London, she might have been famous now herself instead of merely being favourably known to a number of provincial audiences. Yet how much more wonderful to be the mother of a famous daughter in whose success she could be completely absorbed without feeling the least guilt of egotism. The piece that Autumn at the Vanity was only one of a long line of musical comedies between which it would be idle to attempt to distinguish; the part that Letizia played was only one of many similar parts, and the songs she sang had been written over and over again every year for many years; but Lettie Fuller herself was different. She was incarnate London, and this was strange, because she had neither a cockney accent nor, what was indeed unexpected on the musical comedy stage, a mincing suburban accent. She did not open big innocent eyes at the stalls and let her underclothes wink for her. She neither pursed her lips nor simpered, nor waggled her head. But she was beautiful with a shining naturalness and an infectious vitality; and as Mrs. Pottage told her mother, she was as fresh as a lilac in Spring. The old lady—the very old lady, for she was now seventy-five—was sitting with Nancy in the middle of the stalls. Nancy thought that she would be less nervous there than in a box, and it would be easier for Letizia not to be too much aware of her mother’s anguished gaze. “Well, I’m sorry she’s gone and had herself printed Lettie Fuller,” said Mrs. Pottage. “Because I’d made up my mind that before I died I _would_ learn how to spell Letitsia, and I brought my best glasses on purpose so as I could see the name printed as it should be. And then she goes and calls herself Lettie, which a baby-in-arms could spell. And Mrs. Bugbird and pore Aggie Wilkinson was both very anxious to know just how it was spelt, so they’ll be disappointed. I only hope Mrs. B. will reckonise her when she comes on, because she won’t know who she is from Adam and Eve in the programme.” “Is dear old Mrs. Bugbird here?” Nancy exclaimed.