“Well, I don’t mind saying she’s made me feel like a girl again,” Mrs. Pottage went on after a moment or two of silence. “Every sweetheart I ever had come into my mind while she was singing that song. You know! It was like riding on the top of a bus in fine weather when they’ve just watered the streets and the may’s out in flower and you say to yourself there’s no place like dear old London after all and begin to nod and dream as you go jogging along, thinking of old faces and old fancies and the fun you’ve had years ago.” The curtain rose on the second act, and with every line she said and with every note she sang Lettie Fuller became nearer and dearer to her audience that night. Once, after a sally had been taken up by the house in roars of laughter, Mrs. Pottage exclaimed to Nancy: “Hark! did you hear that? That was Mrs. Bugbird’s laugh above the lot. Oh, I’d reckonise that laugh if I was in my coffin. You mark my words, she’ll be whooping in a moment. That’s always the way it gets her. But pore Aggie’ll pat her back if she whoops _too_ hard.” In spite of the encores—and Letizia always won by far the loudest and most persistent of them—the curtain fell at last on another thundering Vanity success. “Bravo, bravo, my beauty!” Mrs. Pottage stood up to shout when Letizia took her call. Lots of other people were standing up and shouting, so her enthusiasm was not so very conspicuous. Nancy felt too weak with emotion to stand up herself, and sank back in a pale trance of joyful relief. “There’s Mrs. B.!” Mrs. Pottage suddenly exclaimed. “And if she claps much louder, she’ll clap herself out of that new dress of hers for good and all. And when she gets out in the Strand she’ll be run in to Bow Street if she isn’t careful. She’s the most excitable woman I ever _did_ know.” At last the audience consented to let the performers retire, and a few minutes later Nancy held Letizia in her arms. “Darling mother, was I good?” “Darling child, you were perfect.” “And where’s Mrs. Pottage?” Letizia asked. “Did she think I was good?” “The dear old soul’s waiting to be invited into your dressing-room.” “Mrs. Pottage! Mrs. Pottage!” Letizia cried, hugging the old lady. “You’re coming back to supper with me, aren’t you?” “Oh, no, duckie. I’ve got Mrs. Bugbird and pore Aggie Wilkinson waiting to go back to Greenwich. We’re all going to take a cab to London Bridge.” “Oh, but they must both come to supper too. They must really. I’ll get a car to drive you home. You _must_ all come. I won’t be long dressing.” And, if it was possible for Nancy to feel any happier that night, it was when her little daughter showed that success had not made her heedless of old simple friends. The very next day Nancy went round to see her agent.