The girl with the plume seemed pleased, and accompanied her the few steps to the corner of the side-street in which the stage-entrance of the music-hall was to be found; there they parted, and Evarne proceeded on her exploring expedition alone. Sure enough, she soon beheld a very narrow, red folding-door, over which "Stage Door" appeared enticingly in white letters. The flaps were already slightly ajar, and, pushing them wider open, she peered inside the sacred portals. There was a commissionaire's box sure enough, but no official of any description to grace it. Nothing daunted, Evarne climbed a winding flight of stairs that was just ahead. This ended in a big, square landing, on to which opened several doors. All were closed but one, which, standing wide open, exposed to view a row of washing-basins on a high table, a portion of uncarpeted floor on which lay a jester's cap and a stuffed dog, a huge truss of hay propped up in a corner, together with a couple of guns, and a chair covered with a pile of garments. Since, save for these rooms, the landing was a blank alley, Evarne was about to descend when a step was heard, and a very young man appeared in the open doorway. Partly with a view to accounting for her trespassing, the girl explained: "I want to find the hall-porter." The youth's response was far from useful. "Well, he isn't here now, and I don't know where he is, or when he will be back." The idea came to Evarne that possibly this stranger might serve as well as the porter. "I wanted to ask if he could tell me of any nice lodgings about here," she said. The youth at once waxed quite enthusiastic. "Well, I can jolly well tell you that! We are staying at the only decent place in the neighbourhood. We go there about four times a year, and we wouldn't go to anybody else than Mrs. Burling, not for toffee. When are you coming in?" "I want a room at once." "Well, I can't say what she's got vacant. We've got--let me see--a sitting-room, and one, two, three bedrooms." "Would you mind telling me what you pay for that?" "Well, we're charged a pound a week for our lot, and that's inclusive, coals and light and everything. I'll give you the address. You can't better it, I'll take my oath." He scribbled an address, and Evarne again sought the outer air. At the corner of the street was the girl with the plume, still waiting, who inquired after her success. Evarne showed her the slip of paper. "It's the Vauxhall Bridge Road. Is that near by?" she asked. "Oh yes; just cross over and go straight ahead, past that clock."