The Sisters Garibaldi wept; Mr. Blundell blew his nose very hard; the young actor passed into another sphere of theatrical life. During the last two years Bram had written to his grandmother from time to time, and had had from her an occasional letter in return, in which he heard no news of Lebanon House beyond an occasional assurance of its eternal sameness. However, just before he left Blundell to join the melodrama company he did receive a letter, in which her large spidery handwriting crossed and sometimes recrossed was spread over several sheets of notepaper. Lebanon House Brigham. April 20th, 1884. Dear Bram, I thought it might interest you to hear that your grandfather died last week. Please don’t write and tell me that you are sorry, because that would not be true and there is no need to make the death of a relation an occasion for an insincere piece of politeness. You will notice that there is no black edge to this notepaper. Remember that, when you next write to me. What is more, if there were any red ink in the house I would use it. Your brother is leaving school to take up a chair in your father’s office. There will not be room on the seat of that chair for anybody else. You need not worry that anybody in this house will ever try to kill the fatted calf for you. They wouldn’t give you a slice of cold mutton if you came back to-morrow. They wouldn’t give you a pickled onion. So stay where you are, and write sometimes to that withered leaf, Your loving Grandmother. Bram made rapid strides in his profession—too rapid really, for by the time he was twenty-three he already had a reputation in the provinces as what was, and no doubt still is, known as a utility man. Such a reputation, serviceable enough in the provinces, is likely to prove a barrier to ultimate success. Paradox though it be, the better actor all round a man is, the less likely he will be ever to achieve success in London. It is the old tale of the general practitioner and the Harley Street specialist. However, to be playing good parts at so early an age was enough for Bram. He had no ambition to become famous for a novel mannerism, and he was always ready to act anything—low comedy, light comedy, heroes, villains, heavy fathers, and walking gentlemen. He was never out of an engagement, and as he would have starved rather than ask help of his relations, this was his chief concern. To fame and fortune on a grand scale he did not aspire. CHAPTER VII TRUE LOVE